#beast chuuya x reader

[osamucide]

thinking abt bsd men after u leave a lipstick mark on their faceedd

this is an ages old ask but it really struck me today… anon you’re so right….

I know CHUUYA buys you the most expensive lipstick. He knows you don’t mind a decent drugstore lip if it means he doesn’t have to break the bank, but sometimes he can’t help himself—he loves to spoil you. He loves an autumny shade on you, one that almost matches his hair, but his favorite is that rich garnet Guerlain Rouge G, and he wears your $80 lipstick kisses all day like badges of honor. (He might even hairspray it a little so it doesn't sweat or rub off.) The last thing an enemy will see before Chuuya empties a clip in their skull is the deep red kiss mark you left on his jaw that morning before work <3

ANGO is not a shallow man, but I think he loves the old-money feel of having your lipstick marks all over him, especially near the corners of his mouth. Another one who won't hesitate to open up his wallet, I can see him seeking out velvety vintage lipsticks for you to smudge all over his shirt collar. He does hope that the pigment distracts from the blush dusting his face, though—no matter how many times you stain his pretty face, and no matter how hardnened of a gangster he is, he still gets all giddy and hot when you shower him in such affection. Might have to pull you into the nearest bathroom to see where the color looks stained elsewhere. . .

Your ever-enthusiastic NIKOLAI already thinks of your kisses as rewards, but this—oh, god, seeing the true red creme lipstick, the one you let him pick out, decorating the corners of his cheeks makes him absolutely glow. The gentle dot where you pecked the tip of his nose matches his aesthetic so well; he thinks he should go out like this all the time, you should do this every day, and he'll beg you for more, more lipstick kisses! Until you can hardly see an inch of his pale skin from the neck up. You'll just have to move to his hands next! It might look ridiculous, but he never feels more beautiful. How wonderful it is, he thinks, to be adored by you.

Now, BEASTZAI and his mental gymnastics. . .he'll flip the script in his mind and puff himself up with the notion that your lipstick kiss on his cheek is somehow another token of his ownership over you. After all, you're the only one he'd ever, ever, in a million years, allow close enough to his person to leave such a mark. He'll protest emptily about how it'll diminish his prestige in front of his subordinates, but it's not like they don't already know he's just as whipped for you as you are for him—and he knows this too deep down, so he won't move to wipe it off. In fact, he finds himself going out of his way to preserve it all day until evening when he's home and you can cover him in the other kind of kiss mark <3

And finally, I think canon timeline DAZAI would eat it up for the purest reasons of any of these men. Of course he'll tease you about it, lecture you playfully about how insatiable you are—you just have to let everyone know he's yours, huh? But, really, when he shuffles off to the bathroom and catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror with your tender kiss preserved on the arch of his cheekbone, tears threaten his lashline. He can't pull his eyes away from it. He won't cry, he can't fuck it up—but he lets his fingers hover over it, amazed at such concrete evidence of your love for him. He tries not to think about it too hard while he barges back out into the office where you've brought him lunch, half-singing, half-begging for more lipstick kisses on the beautiful face of your beloved boyfriend, please!

[moomuzan]

B⃣   U⃣   Z⃣   Z⃣   K⃣   I⃣   L⃣   L⃣

ੈ INFO — you’re their affair but the mafia wants your head!

༘⋆ PAIRING — pm! dazai, chuuya & akutagawa x gn! reader

༉‧ TAGS — angst, mentions of killing & death

➶ ˚ A/N — please let me write a part two

Mori’s words cut through the haze of DAZAI ‘s thoughts like a knife. “Get rid of them.”

Dazai’s expression remained unreadable, but inside, the world had stopped turning. His eyes flickered to the desk, where a glass of whiskey sat untouched. “Get rid of them,” Mori had said. So simple. So final. So damn easy.

But Dazai had always been good at lying. To others, and especially to himself. He didn't expect to feel this conflict, this gnawing sense of betrayal, not when it came to the Mafia—not when it came to this. But the moment Mori had delivered the order, Dazai had known. He had known exactly who the target was.

It’s you. It’s always been you.

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as his mind raced. The affair, the stolen moments of tenderness, the way they both pretended it was nothing more than fleeting… He never thought it would come to this. But here it was. The consequences of living a double life, of finding solace in someone who could never belong to him.

Dazai’s lips curled into a faint smile, as though mocking himself.

Did Mori know? Did he know that the one person he’d ordered to be eliminated was the one person Dazai had secretly allowed himself to care about?

Dazai wasn’t so naive to believe his mentor wouldn’t play both sides, wouldn’t force him into this situation for his own amusement.

The mafia executive wasn’t sure if he could live with the idea of losing you... or if he could carry out the hit, knowing it would destroy him.

His fingers hovered over his phone, the screen showing your contact. If I call... if I tell you... could we run away? The idea of abandoning the Mafia made him laugh bitterly. The thought of betrayal, of leaving behind everything he’d built... but it wasn’t the Mafia he feared losing. It was you.

Yet, when the moment came—he would do it. He would bury everything, including the feeling you had given him. Because that’s what he did. He always did what was expected.

CHUUYA sat in the dimly lit room, the weight of the letter in his hand heavier than anything he’d ever held before. Mori’s voice echoed in his mind.

“Get rid of them.”

“Them?”

Chuuya was used to the cold indifference of orders. He’d executed people for less. He had done it with no hesitation, no second thoughts. But this—this was different.

The person Mori was speaking of wasn’t just someone. It was you. You, who had filled the hollow space in his life, who had shown him a side of himself he had long buried. He never expected this to happen—not with you. He never let anyone close enough to matter before. But you had broken through that wall with nothing but a smile and understanding.

He ran a hand through his messy hair, fighting the tightness in his chest.

Could he do it? Could he actually carry out the hit on you?

He stood up, walking to the window, staring out at the city below. The light of the streetlamps blurred as his anger and confusion boiled over.

Did Mori know? Did he know about the late-night meetings? The stolen kisses in dark corners?

Chuuya gritted his teeth. He wasn’t that naive. Mori had eyes everywhere, and nothing escaped his notice. The question wasn’t whether Mori knew—it was whether Mori was playing a sick game. Did Mori want to test his loyalty, push him over the edge?

“I won’t do it,” he muttered to himself, his voice shaking with the weight of his decision. But then, the cold truth hit him.

If he didn’t do it... what would Mori do to you?

AKUTAGAWA stood in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection. His jaw was clenched, his eyes cold. But his mind was anything but calm.

“Get rid of them,” Mori had ordered.

The word felt like a punch to the gut. You. The one person who had wormed your way into his life without his consent, and yet, now, you were all he thought about.

It’s a mission, he told himself, a simple task. Nothing personal.

But it was personal. Everything about this was personal. He had never intended to care, but he did. His mind flickered to the stolen moments, the rare smiles you’d shared, the quiet understanding between you two. You were a weakness he’d allowed himself to indulge in, and now it was all crashing down.

Did Mori know? Did Mori know that Akutagawa had let himself fall in love with someone he should have never even thought of?

The possibility gnawed at him, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was the task at hand. He had a duty, a responsibility to the Port Mafia. Loyalty was everything. And yet, there was this one painful truth that sat at the back of his mind: If he killed you, he would be killing the part of himself that wasn’t just a weapon.

His fingers flexed as he gripped his coat tighter, the faintest tremble in his hand betraying the turmoil inside him.

“Damn it,” he muttered to himself, his voice low and venomous. “I can’t do this.”

But he had no choice.

He turned away from the mirror, eyes filled with a mixture of anger, pain, and uncertainty. You had made him feel human—had made him feel something that had terrified him. And now, for the sake of the Mafia, for the sake of his loyalty, he would have to bury all of that.

[thewickedjazzy]

𓍼𝑽𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝑶𝒇 𝑴𝒚 𝑶𝒘𝒏 𝑺𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚𓂃

➵ 𝓟𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 : Beast! Dazai osamu x f! reader

➵ 𝓘𝓷𝓽𝓻𝓸: You are Dazai's favourite—an executive who avoided unnecessary bloodshed, preferring to strategize behind the scenes. With your cunning plans, you helped the Port Mafia flourish after Mori's death, and under Dazai's leadership, you became vital in securing the organization's power.

➵ 𝓒𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽: NSFW minor dni, smut, angst, dazai is controlling, yandere dazai?, character death, abuse, guns, blood, SA, dissociation, manipulation, unhealthy relationship, let me know if I forgot any Xx.

➵ 𝓐𝓾𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓻'𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓮: Helloooo, this fic took me 3 weeks to finish, I'm always down with angst stories cause, let's be real, no bsd fan doesn't like angst, right? also, ice cream man by raye inspired me to write some parts uwu I hope you enjoy it. xoxo -dividers credits to @anitalenia

➵ 𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽: 6.8k

You shouldn't be crying. You already did beat the man up till he was shaking, but you couldn't help it. You can still feel his ice-cold hands marking your body, a sensation that sends shivers down your spine. How you wish you could express how you feel, how you felt in that moment when your strength faltered. You long to explain why you’re silently blaming yourself, why the guilt gnaws at your insides like a relentless parasite.

You put on these faces, pretending you're fine, wearing a mask of strength that you desperately want to believe in. But in the privacy of the bathroom, you press rewind, playing the events over and over in your head. His fingerprints, like invisible stains, linger on your skin, a cruel reminder of how he made you frame yourself for his sins. Such a pathetic, dead excuse of a man.

The man in question wasn’t just some random thug—he was your crazy ex, the one who had haunted you for years, refusing to let go, even after everything had ended. You hadn’t told anyone about the encounter. What would they think? What would he think? Dazai, with his sharp eyes and sharper mind, would see right through you. He always did.

You straighten up and hastily wipe your tears away as you hear a knock on the door. The sound sends a jolt through your body, and you quickly compose yourself, trying to erase any trace of vulnerability from your face.

Seated at your desk, you take a deep breath and call out, "Come in."

The door opens, and it's Chuuya, greeting you with his usual smile. But the moment his eyes land on you, the smile drops, concern filling his gaze as he takes in your red nose and puffy eyes.

“Hey, you okay?”' he asks with a low and gentle voice.

You force a weak smile, shaking your head. "Yeah..just... pmsing," you lie, the excuse feeling hollow even to you. You get up walking towards him before adding quickly, "Please don’t tell Dazai."

Chuuya hesitates, his eyes searching yours, before he nods, accepting your words without question. He hands you his handkerchief, his expression softening with sympathy as you take it from him.

You dab at your eyes, feeling the wetness seep into it, and then take a deep breath. You can’t afford to break down, not now. Not in front of him.

He escorted you to Dazai’s office, his presence a quiet comfort. At the door, he gave you a final, soft look before turning away.

The office door creaked open, and you stepped inside, the chill of the room amplifying the coldness you already felt. Dazai looked up from his desk, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in your disheveled state.

“Rough day?” he asked, voice so velvetly soft that it could melt you.

You tried to muster a casual smile, but it felt hollow. “Just had a run-in with some old... baggage. Nothing to worry about.”

Dazai’s eyes didn’t leave you, his expression shifting to something more serious. “You know I don’t buy that ‘nothing’ act. What’s really going on?”

You took a deep breath, struggling to keep your voice steady. “It’s really not your concern. I’m handling it.”

Dazai’s gaze was sharp as he looked you up from his desk, his usual lazy posture replaced by a steely focus. “Come here,” he said, a command wrapped in casual tones.

Reluctantly, you approached, his eyes never leaving you. He patted his lap, a gesture both familiar and unsettling. “Sit.”

You shook your head, trying to avoid his intense stare, oh god how he toys with your emotions. “I’m fine standing.”

Dazai’s expression darkened slightly, his patience wearing thin. He reached out, his fingers grazing your wrist as he pulled you closer. The touch was feather-light but unmistakably commanding. He guided you gently onto his lap, his hands resting on your waist.

You stiffened, trying to keep your breathing steady. “Osamu, really, it’s nothing.”

Ignoring your protests, Dazai’s lips brushed against your neck, his kisses soft but insistent. You tilted your head, a soft whimper escaping your lips. The sensation was like a nicotine hit after a long withdrawal; you had been away on a mission for three days, and you had missed his touch more than you cared to admit. As his lips continued their tender assault, he pulled your shirt down slightly, revealing the fresh bruise that marred your skin.

Dazai’s eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint reflecting in them. The bruise was vivid, a stark contrast against your pale skin, and his expression darkened as he took in the sight.

“Who did this?” he asked coldly, his voice remained low.

You turned your head away, refusing to meet his gaze. “It’s not important.”

Dazai’s hand tightened on your waist, his grip firm and unyielding as he tilted your head back. His kisses turned sharper, more insistent, and you couldn’t help but let out soft whimpers. His breath was warm against your skin, his lips pressing harder with each passing second. “I said who did this..”

You swallowed hard, the pressure of his words mixing with the lingering sting of the bruise. “It’s nothing. Just...someone from my past.”

His grip remained unyielding, his gaze piercing. “I don’t like secrets. Especially ones that involve you getting hurt.”

The room seemed to shrink around you, the weight of his expectations pressing down. You felt cornered, unable to escape the intensity of his scrutiny. “I said it’s nothing. Please, just let it go.”

Dazai’s expression remained impassive for a moment, then he simply nodded. The acknowledgment was neither reassuring nor dismissive, leaving a cold tension in the air.

After a few seconds of silence Dazai's voice cut through the room, his fingers still brushing against your skin. “The thing is, my love, you don’t have to tell me anything.” He turned to the intercom on his desk, his tone shifting to a cold, commanding edge. “Atsushi, you can bring him in now.”

Your eyes widened in shock, your legs going weak as you tried to turn your head towards the door. It creaked open slightly, and Atsushi rushed in, dragging your ex behind him. Your ex’s hands were bound tightly, and he was unconscious, a cloth over his mouth. Atsushi tossed him roughly onto the floor and announced, “I brought him alive, just as you ordered.”

“Good work, Atsushi,” he said calmly. “You can leave now.”

Dazai’s gaze remained on you, his smile twisted with a cruel satisfaction as Atsushi closed the door behind him. He lifted your legs lightly, forcing you to stand as he moved toward the prone figure of your ex, who was beginning to stir. Dazai’s fingers traced along your ex’s jawline with an unsettling gentleness.

Horror gripped you as you watched, understanding what was about to unfold. You begged, your voice trembling, “Please, Dazai, don’t kill him.”

He merely tsked in response, his eyes cold and unyielding. “I’m not going to kill him.”

Before you could take a deep breath, his voice sliced through the tension like an arrow. “You are the one who's going to do it.” He gently grabs your hands placing a gun between them.

Your hands trembled as you held the gun, the cold metal biting into your palms. The room was deathly silent except for the faint, ragged breaths of your ex as he began to regain consciousness. His eyes fluttered open, revealing a mix of confusion and fear as he took in his surroundings.

Dazai’s cold eyes were locked on you.“Go on,” he urged softly. “You wanted him to suffer for what he did. Here’s your chance.”

The gun felt impossibly heavy, and your heart pounded in your chest. You glanced at your ex, his eyes widening in terror as he realized what was happening. “Please,” you whispered, more to yourself than to anyone else. “This isn’t what I wanted.”

Dazai’s smile widened slightly. “It doesn’t matter what you wanted. You’ve been given a choice. What will you do with it?”

Your mind raced, grappling with the gravity of the situation. You thought of the pain he’d caused you, the fear he had instilled, and the bruises that still stung. Yet, the thought of ending his life filled you with a profound dread. You felt trapped, the decision crushing under the weight of Dazai’s expectation and your own turmoil.

“Do it,” Dazai said, his voice a soft command, almost a caress. “Or I’ll do it for you. But if I do, you’ll have missed your chance to decide your own fate.”

Your eyes filled with tears as you faced your ex, his terror and confusion mirroring your own. Choked sobs left you lips Dazai’s gaze followed every movement with a sick interest.

“Please, Dazai..don’t make me do this,” you pleaded, your voice cracking.

Dazai’s expressionwas stoic as ever. “You’re not being asked to make a choice you can’t live with. You’re being given the chance to claim control over your own life.”

With a final, desperate look at your ex, you closed your eyes, trying to steady your breathing. The gun felt like a lead weight in your hand, the gravity of your decision pressing down on you. Finally, with a heavy heart and trembling hands, you raised the gun.

You closed your eyes tightly, the room spinning as you tried to steady your racing heart. The gun trembled in your grip, the weight of the decision nearly unbearable. You heard Dazai move behind you, his footsteps silent against the floor.

His presence was almost soothing as he came closer, but you knew better than to trust the comfort of his proximity. Dazai's hands settled on your outstretched arms, his touch both firm and unsettlingly gentle. His fingers caressed the metal of the gun, guiding it with a measured pressure.

“You don’t need to hesitate,” Dazai murmured softly into your ear, his breath warm against your skin. “You’ve already made the decision. Now, you just need to follow through.”

The sensation of his hands on yours, the intimate pressure of his grip, made your breathing shallow and uneven. You felt a dark, twisted sense of helplessness as his fingers guided the gun, aligning it with your ex’s trembling form.

“I’ll count to three,” Dazai continued, his voice was steady “And when I reach three, I want you to pull the trigger. Don’t let yourself falter.”

You felt his breath on your neck, his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke. The intimacy of his touch contrasted sharply with the gravity of the moment. You wanted to pull away, to escape the suffocating pressure, but his grip held you firmly in place.

“One,” Dazai said, his voice calm as he pressed a soft kiss on your neck.

Your tears fell silently as you fought against the urge to drop the gun.

“Two,” Dazai’s breath was warm as he pressed another kiss.

You could hear your ex’s shallow breaths, his eyes pleading as they met yours.

“Three,” Dazai said, his voice now a commanding whisper.

With a final, shuddering breath, you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out the world as you pulled the trigger. The sound of the shot echoed painfully in the room, and you felt the impact of the action resonate through your very core.

You opened your eyes, your arms fell limp as the gun slipped from your grasp, hitting the floor with a hollow clatter. You staggered back, your legs barely holding you upright, and turned away from the grim sight before you.

Dazai’s grip on your shoulders was a cold anchor as he held you steady, his touch paradoxically soothing yet possessive. You could feel his breath against your neck as he leaned in close, his voice a chilling murmur. “Well done,” he said placing soft kisses again as his arms wrapped around your waist pulling your back against his chest. “You’ve proven your resolve.”

You felt a wave of nausea and despair wash over you, your emotions a tangled mess of guilt and horror. The room spun as you tried to make sense of the scene in front of you. The body on the floor was now still, the weight of your actions sinking in with a heavy finality.

Dazai’s hands slid down to your wrists, his touch now insistent as he forced you to look at the aftermath. “Do you see what you’ve done?” he asked softly, his voice a mix of praise and dark satisfaction. “You’ve taken control of your own fate.”

You tried to pull away, but his grip was firm, his presence an oppressive force that left you feeling trapped. Your eyes darted around the room, searching for any semblance of escape, but all you found was the unyielding gaze of Dazai, his face reflecting a mixture of cold pleasure and calculated dominance.

His fingers gently traced your jawline, his touch both tender and unsettling. “It’s done now,” he said, his voice almost affectionate. “You did great, my love.”

The finality of his words echoed in your mind as you struggled to come to terms with what had just happened. The tears streaming down your face were a testament to the turmoil within you, the depth of your inner conflict clear as you fought to keep yourself composed.

Dazai’s hands gently turned you around to face him. His expression, though tinged with satisfaction, softened as he wiped away the tears streaming down your face. His touch was tender, almost reverent, as he carefully brushed away the last remnants of your distress.

He leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a soft, lingering kiss. The tenderness of the moment was jarring against the harsh reality of what had just occurred. His lips moved gently against yours, and he licked your bottom lip before drawing it into a passionate, consuming kiss.

The warmth of his kiss contrasted sharply with the icy numbness you felt inside. You felt his fingers trace your face, lingering on the slight traces of blood that you hadn’t even noticed. His touch was delicate, almost intimate, as he wiped away the remnants with careful precision.

Dazai pulled away from the kiss, his expression unreadable as he reached for the intercom on his desk. “Atsushi,” he said with a cold, commanding tone, “bring in the clean-up crew. Dispose the body.”

Atsushi entered the room, his eyes shifting between you and Dazai. He bowed slightly, acknowledging the order before moving towards the body. As he lifted your ex’s lifeless form, the finality of the situation hit you with renewed force. You stared blankly, more tears streaming down your face, as Atsushi carried the body out and closed the door behind him.

The room was filled with the soft hum of Dazai’s presence as he moved back in front of you. He gently placed his hands on your cheeks, shushing you softly as your sobs grew louder. “Shh, it’s alright,”he murmured, his voice almost soothing.

You couldn’t stop the tears from flowing, your sobs escaping in ragged bursts. Dazai’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you tightly against his chest. His embrace was both comforting and suffocating.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice a murmur against your hair. “I know it was hard.”

You could barely respond, the weight of your own emotions too heavy to articulate. All you could do was clutch at him, your sobs muffled against his chest as the realization of what had happened continued to sink in. You hated him, and yet, in the chaos of your emotions, you felt a desperate, confusing affection for him—a love that seemed to only grow more complicated in the aftermath of his actions.

Dazai’s fingers gently combed through your hair, his touch soothing despite the circumstances. “It’s all over now,” he said softly.

His lips brushed against your forehead in a tender kiss, “He should've known better than to touch what's mine.”

The room was filled with the constant contact of your colliding bodies. Your body arched against the rumpled sheets as his thrusts filled you completely, each stroke hitting exactly the right spots.

" Mmm.. that's it my love, take my cock all the way inside this pretty eager pussy of yours" he growled softly against your skin.

You relished the way every thrust brushed against your cervix, sending waves of pleasure through you. The intensity of his movements left you feeling utterly consumed, your mind hazed and eyes glossy with desire. Your fingers dug into his back, desperately clutching him as he moved with a raw intensity.

His lips traveled down your neck, biting and kissing with a fervent need. One hand cupped your breast with a possessive grip while his mouth hovered over the other, teasing with gentle flicks of his tongue and playful nips at your nipple. The mix of sensations was overwhelming, your moans filling the space between you.

Yet, even in the midst of this passion, your mind began to wander. The memories of the past few days—the confrontation, the guilt, and Dazai’s chilling command—flooded your thoughts, turning the intense pleasure into a distant murmur. You felt a growing disconnection, your body reacting while your mind struggled to stay present.

Sensing the abrupt change, Dazai felt as if he were thrusting into a lifeless body. He slowed his movements and pulled back slightly, his gaze meeting yours with a rare softness. “What’s wrong, my love?” he asked, concern filling his lustrous gaze.

You took a few deep breaths, trying to steady yourself as your voice, though shaky, was firm. “It’s fine,” you reassured him, forcing a weak smile. “I just... got lost in my thoughts for a moment. It’s nothing.” You reached out to gently touch his cheek, trying to convey that the issue was more internal than it was about him.

Dazai took a deep breath and shifted to sit upright, his concern still evident. “You're still thinking about it, right?” he asked, his voice tinged with genuine worry.

"Please, just forget about it." you said, pulling his wrist with a firm but gentle grip. Before he could respond, you pressed your lips against his, kissing him deeply to steer your focus back to the present.

Dazai gasped into the kiss, his breath hitching as your kissed him with fervor. He gently pinned your wrists down with a possessive grip, his lips trailing soft kisses along your chest. He positioned himself again, his cock pressing against your throbbing cunt, his voice a low murmur.

“We can stop if it’s too much, my love,” he whispered as his chest moves up and down with each breath.

You locked gaze with his eyes, “Just fuck me already,” you breathed. You wanted to reclaim the moment, to bury the past beneath the intense passion that bound you both.

He slams his cock into you again, filling you completely. A growl escapes his lips as he watches you squirm beneath him, clearly enjoying the sight of your reactions. His thrusts become more powerful, and he showers your neck, chest, and breasts with fervent kisses.

"So addict to my cock, love? Hmm?" he continues to taunt you with his words and delivers a firm slap to your ass, making you shiver from his touch.

You gasp, arching your back as his thrusts hit all the right spots. “It feels so good, 'samu” you breathe, trying to steady yourself.

He slaps your ass again, making you shiver and whimper. “Say it again, my love haah~ I need to hear you say how good ugh~I’m making you feel.”

“s'good,” you moan, your voice breaking.

"Good" with a satisfied growl, he pulls out. “Now, ride me.”

You nod, your legs trembling in anticipation. As you position yourself over him, he hisses at the sensation of your cold hand guiding his hard, leaking cock to your eager, wet cunt.

As you sink down onto him, your walls stretches to accommodate his size, a deep moan slipping from your lips as you take him in fully. The feeling is overwhelming, your inner walls tightening around him, drawing a sharp gasp from both of you.

His long slender fingers grip your hips, helping you find a rhythm as you begin to ride against him. Each roll of your hips sends waves of pleasure through you, the friction making you shudder.

You lean forward, your fingers fumbling as you carefully remove the bandage from his eye. Your breath is hot against his neck as you whisper, “’Samu, I love you.” Your body presses against his, and with a surge of passion, you begin to ride him at a faster pace, each movement gaining a growl from him.

His eye, now fully exposed, darkens with lust as he gazes up at you. “I love you too, darling,” he murmurs through soft gasps. He meets your rhythm with powerful thrusts, each one driving deeper into you, matching your pace perfectly.

Feeling the pressure building within you, your moans grow louder. “I’m... close, ‘Samu,” you gasp, your trembling hands held onto his shoulders for support as you ride him faster, rolling your hips against his perfect sized cock feeling him hit every spot with his thrusts against you.

A smirk tugs at his lips as he groans in pleasure. “Oh yeah? Come all over my cock, love,” beads of sweat rolling down his temples, his words sending you spiraling closer to the edge. His hands grip your hips tightly, guiding you through the overwhelming waves of pleasure as your body trembles in his grasp.

The coil inside you finally snaps, releasing a wave of ecstasy that washes over you. “Yes, yes, yes, I’m coming, ah~ hmm~,” you cry out, your body going numb from the overwhelming pleasure. Your juices flow freely, spilling down and coating his cock as his thrusts become more intense, shaking your body upwards.

Dazai's growls of satisfaction mix with your moans as he thrusts upward forcefully, riding out his own climax. His body shudders with the release, and he moans loudly, his pleasure echoing through the room.

As the intense waves of pleasure begin to subside, Dazai slowly pulls out, his breath heavy and ragged. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close tenderly. The warmth of his embrace soothes you, bringing a sense of comfort and safety as you both calm down from your shared high. His fingers gently caress circles on your back, his breathing gradually steadying as he murmurs softly into your ear, “God, you did so well, my love.”

You watch him as he gets up, stretching slightly before heading towards the bathroom, the soft hum of water barely filling the room as he turns on the shower. The warmth of the bed still lingers around you, but it does little to quell the chill creeping into your thoughts.

Your mind drifts back to that moment a few days ago. The weight of the gun in your hand, the resistance of the trigger as you squeezed it—it's all so vivid, so real, that it feels as if you're still there, frozen in that moment. You can almost hear the echoes of the shot ringing in your ears, see the flash of surprise in his eyes as life slipped away from him.

You shake your head, trying to dispel the images, but they cling stubbornly, refusing to let go.

He calls your name from the shower, his voice gentle, inviting, yet tinged with concern when you don’t respond immediately. The sound is almost enough to pull you back, but your mind remains caught in that dark place, replaying the scene over and over.

"My love?" another call, softer this time, as he pushes the already ajar bathroom door further open to check on you. His presence pulls you back just enough to acknowledge him, to let the past slip away—at least for now.

His eyes meet yours, concern etched on his face. “Are you okay?”

You nod, forcing yourself to sit up. “I’m fine,” You managed to get off the bed, the cool air brushing against your naked skin, grounding you somewhat.

As you step into the bathroom, your body moves on autopilot, but your mind remains distant. You tell yourself that in a week or so, the memory will fade, that the guilt will lessen, that you’ll forget. But deep down, you know it's just another lie you’re feeding yourself, another attempt to bury the truth under layers of denial.

He steps aside to let you join him under the warm cascade of water, his arms wrapping around you as he senses your unease. “Hey,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple, “you’re safe with me, my love.”

You nod, leaning into his embrace, but the words feel hollow, the comfort fleeting. The water washes over you, warm and soothing, but it can’t cleanse the darkness that lingers within.

You stood in front of the mirror, the dim light casting shadows on your face. Your reflection stared back at you, hollow eyes and a face pale from sleepless nights. The trauma of the past week weighed heavily on you, the memory of the blood-soaked room and the desperate cries of your ex replaying in your mind over and over again.

It had been a week since that horrifying event, but still the memory still clung to your mind like a stubborn stain. Dazai had been more affectionate than usual since then, uncharacteristically tender in his way.

The intimacy between you had taken on a new, softer turn, the moments shared tinged with an almost fragile gentleness. His eyes, once so sharp, now held an unsettling softness, as if he were trying to erase the darkness with his own brand of twisted comfort.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were trapped—caught in a web he’d spun so intricately that you hadn’t even noticed until it was too late.

You had tried to bury the memory, to push it away with every ounce of strength you had. But it never really left, lurking in the corners of your mind—what you had been forced to do.

You needed a break, a breath of fresh air, anything to push back the suffocating fog that had taken over your mind. So, you grabbed your coat, slipped into your favourite boots, and stepped out of your apartment, clinging to the hope of finding some shred of normalcy.

The bar was a refuge, a place where the world’s harsh edges seemed to dull. It was where you went to forget, even if only for a little while. As you walked through the door, the familiar clink of glasses and murmur of conversation welcomed you. The warmth inside, the smoky haze and soft jazz music they all played a part into easing you up even for a bit.

You made your way to the bar, your usual seat already occupied. The bartender greeted you with a nod, his understanding gaze a small comfort. You ordered your drink and settled into your chair, trying to shake off the lingering heaviness from the past week.

Your phone buzzed, pulling you from your thoughts. You picked it up and saw a message from Chuuya: "Hey, just checking in. Are you okay? I’m worried about you."

You typed back: "I’m fine, just needed some time to clear my head. At the bar now, trying to relax a bit." You hit send and put your phone down, taking a deep breath to calm yourself.

That's when you heard a familiar voice. You looked up and saw Kaito standing there, a surprise that made your heart skip. It had been years since you last saw him. He was the one who had helped you escape from your ex's grip, the only person who had reached out to pull you from that nightmare.

“Hey..." he said, his voice warm but edged with worry. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

You gestured to the empty seat beside you. “Sit. I could use the company.”

Kaito slid into the chair, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “You look... different. Is everything okay?”

The question was like a trigger, a floodgate that opened the dam of your emotions. You looked away, taking a deep breath. “It’s been... a rough week.”

He looked at you concerned, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he ordered a drink, and the two of you sat in silence for a while, before he broke the silence.

“I heard your ex went missing. I just wanted to check in...uh...make sure you’re alright. I know how much he hurt you.”

The mention of your ex was like a punch to the gut, the memory of that night resurfacing with cruel clarity. You struggled to keep your composure, taking a sip of your drink to steady yourself. “I... I don’t know what happened to him.”

Kaito’s eyes searched yours, his expression a mix of concern and confusion. “I just wanted to make sure he’s not plotting anything or trying to reach you again. I know what he put you through.”

You nodded, a lump forming in your throat. “Thank you...but seriously I don't know anything about him.”

Before Kaito could respond, your phone buzzed again. You glanced at it and saw a new message from Chuuya: “If you need anything, I’m here for you.”

You were about to reply when Kaito’s voice broke through your thoughts. “ You okay? You seem a bit lost."

You forced a smile, brushing off the concern. “It’s nothing. I just needed a bit of air.”

You stood up, glancing at Kaito. “It was really nice seeing you after all tonight.”

You placed a few yen on the bar as a tip and offered Kaito a final, appreciative look before heading towards the door. Stepping out into the cool night air, you took a deep breath, hoping the walk would clear your head. Hearing the door swung shut behind you.

The crisp breeze brushed against your face as you began walking down the pavement, each step attempting to ground you in the present, you tried to focus on the rhythmic sound of your footsteps, letting the chill seep through your coat and numb your thoughts.

Just as you were beginning to lose yourself in the soothing cadence of the night, a familiar voice cut through the silence, sending a shiver down your spine. It was a voice you knew too well, one that you loved the most—Dazai’s.

Turning slowly, you saw him standing there, his figure framed by the dim streetlights.

“Out for a late-night stroll?” His voice was low and smooth so so smooth.

"Osamu" You whispered his name, barely audible over the street noise, as he approached you. His tall frame seemed to shield you from the harsh cold breeze that had been nipping at your skin.

His arms reached out, pulling you into a desperate, intense embrace. The warmth of his body pierced through the biting cold of the night. You closed your eyes, inhaling the intoxicating scent of his captivating perfume that you were addicted to.

“How are you feeling, my love?” the vibrations of his soft voice soothed you.

You murmured a reply, “Fine,” nuzzling your face into his warm chest. His coat offered a cocoon of comfort against the cold. You could feel the steady beat of his heart, a rhythm that both soothed and troubled you. His soft, cold lips brushed gentle kisses against your hairline, each touch leaving you wanting more.

Dazai’s gaze softened as he tilted your head gently, his fingers brushing against your cheeks with tender.

His lips, still cold from the evening air, found yours in a slow, deliberate kiss. The sensation was electric, a jolt of warmth that spread through you, making you forget the cold that had been clinging to you just moments before.

Your lips parted slightly, and you felt his bottom lip against yours, his kiss deepening as he traced a path of warmth across your mouth. His hands roamed softly over your body, every touch sending shivers down your spine.

When he pulled away, his eyes bore into yours filled with affection. “I’ve got a surprise for you, my love,” he whispered, his breath warm against your lips.

“A surprise?” you asked, your voice barely more than a whisper as your heart fluttered. The night’s chill seemed to dissipate as you gazed up at him, eager to discover what he had under his sleeve.

Dazai’s voice was soft, almost a whisper, as he said, “Follow me, my love.” He guided you through the city streets, leading you to his penthouse—an opulent space you were intimately familiar with. As you entered, the familiar strains of soft jazz filled the room, its soothing melodies filled your ears.

You shrugged off your coat and sank into the nearby couch, glancing up at him curious.

“You know how much I cherish you, don’t you?”

You nodded, a shiver running down your spine. What is he intending to do?

“And you remember when I swore to protect you with my life, back when we shared our first night together?” His eyes bore into yours, searching for affirmation.

Again, you nodded, feeling a knot of unease tightening in your stomach.

He reached out and took your hand, leading you to a door you had never entered before. He typed in a series of digits, and the door slid open with a soft whoosh. What lay beyond sent a jolt of shock through you: Kaito, tied up against the wall with chains, his eyes wide with fear.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat as you stared at the scene in disbelief.

Dazai’s gaze on you never wavered. “You recognize him, don’t you? The one who claimed to be your savior,” he said, his voice carrying an edge of derision. “Kaito, the one who helped you escape. Such a noble act, don’t you think?”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you stared at the sight before you. “No... no, this can’t be real,” you stammered, the words spilling from your lips in a disbelieving murmur. “This isn’t happening. Not again.”

Dazai stepped closer, his expression both smug and infuriatingly calm. “Isn’t it? How often have you been deceived by those who promised you protection and safety? This was no different.”

You shook your head, trying to process the absurdity of it all. “But Kaito—he was different! He helped me when I needed it most. You don't understand he's the only one who saved me from my ex.”

The disillusionment in your voice only seemed to amuse Dazai. “And you think that makes him any less of a threat? How easily you’ve been misled. Did you ever consider that he was simply another pawn in your ex’s game? A way to keep you within his reach?”

Your gaze shifted to Kaito, who was now looking at you with desperation. The realization that Dazai might be telling the truth hit you like a physical blow. “No, he can’t be. He was... he was kind to me. He never hurt me.”

Dazai’s gaze was unrelenting, his tone dripping with cold logic. “Kindness can be deceiving. Sometimes, it’s just a means to an end. Kaito’s actions were a calculated move, meant to keep you under control, to make you trust him while feeding information to your ex.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you faced Dazai, the weight of his words crushing you. “You’re... you’re insane! You can’t do this to me again. STOP IT STOP HURTING ME!”

Dazai’s hand reached up, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes were cold and unyielding, the warmth of his voice now a sharp contrast to the icy anger in his eyes. “I’m not insane. I’m showing you the truth, my love. Kaito was never your friend. If you don’t make a choice now, I will choose for you.”

The room seemed to close in around you, your heart pounding wildly. You were ensnared between the echoes of your past and the oppressive reality Dazai had crafted, desperately searching for an escape from the nightmare he had ensnared you in.

Dazai's lips curved into a passionate smile as he placed the cold, heavy gun into your trembling hands. The weapon, tainted with the blood of your ex, seemed to burn with its own malevolent energy. His eyes gleamed with a twisted sense of pride.

“Come on, my love,” he urged, his voice laced with a seductive intensity. “Take control of your own life. Show everyone that you’re not someone to be trifled with. Make them fear you. No one dares to hurt you again.”

His words echoed through the room, mingling with the suffocating tension that surrounded you. The weight of the gun felt like a cruel burden, a symbol of the power Dazai was forcing upon you.

As you looked at Kaito, bound and vulnerable, a storm of emotions raged inside you. Dazai’s gaze remained unwavering, his expectations clear: the choice was yours to make, but his influence loomed over every decision.

The gun felt like a leaden weight in your hands, the reality of the situation crashing down upon you. Tears streamed down your face as you crumpled, the gun slipping from your grasp and clattering to the floor. Your voice, choked with despair, broke through the oppressive silence.

“I can’t do this again... not again,” you sobbed, shaking your head furiously. You pulled your legs to your chest, curling up in a desperate attempt to shield yourself from the cruelty of Dazai’s demands.

Dazai’s expression shifted from steely determination to a weary sigh. With a resigned shake of his head, he stepped forward, reclaiming the gun from where it had fallen. His movements were deliberate, almost tender, as he aimed it at Kaito, who stared back in terror.

Three shots rang out, each one echoing with finality. The sound was deafening, reverberating through the room and drowning out your anguished cries. The finality of the act left you in stunned silence, your body trembling as you remained huddled on the floor, the gravity of what had just occurred sinking in.

“No... you didn’t...” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. Your eyes were fixed on the lifeless form of Kaito, disbelief and anguish washing over you.

Dazai’s sigh was heavy with disappointment as he shook his head slowly. “I’m disappointed in you, my love,” he said, his voice carrying a cold edge. “You couldn’t take control of your life this time. You think I’m the one hurting you? They’re the ones who’ve been hurting you all along.”

His gaze was unwavering, a mixture of pity and resolve in his eyes as he stepped closer. “I did this to protect you from them, to ensure that you’re never vulnerable again. It’s always been about keeping you safe from those who would harm you. I did what was necessary to shield you from your past.”

You shook your head violently, the world around you spinning as you scrambled to your feet. Adrenaline surged through your veins, propelling you to the door. You flung it open and sprinted down the hall, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Where are you going my love, please come back.” His footsteps pounded after you. “Don’t do this. I love you! This is meaningless—everything I did was to protect you!”

But you couldn’t bear to hear him anymore. “I want to stay away from you!” you screamed, your voice cracking with raw desperation.

You burst out of his penthouse and into the cold night air, the chill biting at your exposed skin. Your vision blurred with tears, making the city lights shimmer and swirl. You fumbled for your phone, dialing Chuuya’s number with trembling fingers.

The line rang a few times before a sleepy voice answered, muffled by grogginess. “Chuuya...” you gasped between breaths. “I—I'm leaving. I—will run away from here. He did it again, Chuuya.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end, followed by Chuuya’s urgent voice, now fully awake. “Where are you? Are you safe? Just stay on the line. I’m coming to get you.”

Your voice trembled as you spoke into the phone, trying to keep your words steady despite the panic swelling inside you. “Chuuya, no… don’t come. Please. I don’t want you to get into trouble. I’ll… I’ll manage to get away by myself.”

Chuuya’s voice was firm and insistent. “Don’t be stupid. I’m coming. Just tell me where you are.”

You forced yourself to keep moving, trying to steady your breath despite the adrenaline coursing through you. “Chuuya, listen to me,” you said, your voice shaking. “I just called to let you know. I need you to stay out of this. It’s too dangerous. I can’t risk you getting hurt because of me.”

“I don’t like this at all. You’re obviously not okay. I need to be there with you.” You could hear the sounds of him hurriedly getting dressed in the background.

“I’m sorry, Chuuya, but I can't-” you said firmly.

Before he could protest further, you ended the call, the sound of the disconnect echoing in the quiet of the night.

You made your way through the winding streets, heading towards a nondescript building nestled away from prying eyes. It had been your refuge years before, a place where you could escape the chaos and find peace in solitude. Now, it was the final sanctuary you turned to as you prepared to leave everything behind.

The old studio was just as you remembered it—dusty but comforting, filled with the quiet hum of memories. You approached the closet where you had stored a suitcase, its worn exterior a testament to its many years of service. You opened it, the familiar smell of old leather and fabric greeting you.

With calculated movements, you began packing the clothes you’d kept from simpler times—soft sweaters, faded jeans, and a few cherished pieces that held fragments of your past. Each item you folded and placed into the suitcase carried a piece of who you used to be, the person you were before the mafia and before Dazai.

As you worked, the thought of leaving Dazai behind gnawed at you, filling you with an intense, suffocating agony. Despite everything he had done, the idea of severing ties with him was a painful wrenching of the heart. Yet, the realization that staying would only bring more torment drove you to continue, each movement of packing a silent affirmation of your resolve.

You zipped up the suitcase, the sound of the closure echoing in the empty room. The decision to leave the city and all its shadows behind was a heavy one, but necessary. With a final glance around the studio, you took a deep breath, preparing yourself for the journey ahead. The train would take you far from this place, and despite the heartache, you knew it was the only way forward.

Before you could make another move, a voice cut through the silence of the studio. "My love, are you leaving me?" The words were laced with a deep sadness, sending a jolts all over your body.

You spun around, disbelief etched across your face. "How did you find me?" you demanded, your voice trembling.

Dazai stood in the doorway with a hurt expression written all over his face.

He stepped closer sighing, "The bracelet,” he said quietly, holding up your wrist to reveal the piece of jewelry you had thought was a mere token of affection given to you two years ago. “It has a tracker embedded in it. I had it activated in case you were ever in danger.”

The weight of his words hit you like a physical blow. The realization that he had been monitoring you all along, even in your attempts to escape, left you reeling. You stared at him, your resolve faltering but your heart aching with an overwhelming confusion.

“Why did you have to follow me?” you asked, your voice cracking. “Why can’t you just let me go?”

He took another step closer, his gaze pleading. “Because I can’t bear the thought of losing you. I know you're probably thinking that I’m just some insane man who’s only hurting you. But you have to understand, my actions come from a place of deep love. I need you to see past the madness and understand how much you mean to me.”

"Is this how you show love, Dazai? By trapping me and manipulating me?" you said, your voice trembling. "You don't get to decide what's best for me by controlling every aspect of my life."

Dazai's expression softened, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his face. “I know I’ve made mistakes. I’m twisted and flawed, but I thought... I thought that if I could keep you close, I could protect you from everything else. I never wanted to hurt you.”

You shook your head, the finality of your decision settling in. “You’ve hurt me more than you know. I can’t stay here. I can't stay anxious, wondering who you’ll force me to kill next.”

Dazai’s eyes grew darker, his voice tainted with desperation. “I never wanted to hurt you. I thought I was protecting you. Everything I did was to keep you safe in comtrol of your own life, even if it means making terrible choices.”

You scoffed, “Safe? You forced me to kill my ex! And then Kaito?”

Dazai’s face tightened. “He was a traitor. He manipulated you all this time. I told you.”

“Even if!” you shot back, your voice trembling with anger. “Do you think I wanted them dead? I never wanted any of this! You think you’re protecting me, but all you’re doing is turning my life into a nightmare, forcing me to make impossible choices.”

He reached out, but you flinched away. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice cracking with uncharacteristic vulnerability. “I know I’ve gone too far. I only wanted to protect you, but I see now that I’ve lost sight of what’s right.”

The realization hit you hard. “Lost sight of what’s right? You’ve lost sight of everything that matters. I’m leaving, Dazai. I can’t stay here any longer.”

He looked at you, his eyes filled with pain, that you've never seen before, “Please, don’t go. I’ll do anything to make this right. Just... stay and let me fix this.”

You shook your head, “It’s too late. I can’t trust you anymore. I need to get away from this life, from you. Goodbye, Dazai.”

Turning around you held the suitcase tightly, your hand shaking as you reached for the door. Just as you were about to open it, the sharp click of a gun safety being disengaged froze you in place.

You turned slowly, your eyes widening in horror as you saw Dazai standing there. The cold, manipulative mafia boss you had come to fear and loathe was now a broken man, his usual confident demeanor shattered. Tears streamed down his face, mingling with the sweat of his desperate resolve.

The gun was pressed against his temple, his hand trembling slightly. His gaze was locked onto you, the anguish in his eyes more raw than you’d ever seen. The sight was a gut-wrenching contrast to the man you had known—this was not the calculating Dazai but a man at the edge of his sanity, driven to an extreme.

“Don’t... don’t do this,” you pleaded, your voice barely a whisper. “Dazai, put the gun down.”

His tears fell faster, “If you leave, I can’t bear it. I’d rather end it all than live with the fact that I lost you.”

You took a step toward him, the suitcase slipping from your grip as fear and heartbreak twisted inside you. “Dazai, please. Put the gun down. We can figure this out.”

His voice trembled, a fragile whisper on the brink of breaking. “I never valued life until you entered mine. If you choose to leave, then I too must follow.”

You rushed towards him, heart pounding with desperation. As you approached, you gently took the gun from his trembling hand, lowering it to the floor. His body crumpled, and he collapsed into your embrace, clutching you tightly as if afraid you might vanish.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” you whispered soothingly, your own voice trembling as you tried to calm him. You stroked his brunet soft hair gently, your heart aching as you held him close. “It’s okay. I’m here. We’ll figure this out together.”

His sobs were muffled against your shoulder, his breath hot and uneven as he clung to you. " I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I never meant to hurt you. I'm sorry I'm sorry.”

You continued to soothe him, the weight of his despair pressing heavily on your chest. You could see through his anguish, past the facade of his calculated mind to the raw, broken man beneath. Even as his twisted personality had driven him to force your hand, there was no denying the genuine love he felt—a love that, despite its darkness, was deeply real.

The room, dim and cold, was filled with the sound of his muffled sobs, each breath a testament to his remorse and anguish. You held him tightly, trying to offer comfort, though your own heart ached with uncertainty. You knew too well the manipulative games he played, but in this moment, you could see the truth in him. His despair was not a ploy, but a genuine expression of his torment and love.

Gently, you reached up and removed the soaked bandage from his eye. His gaze locked onto yours, filled with a sorrow so profound it was almost unbearable. His face was etched with the pain of his past actions, and as you held him, you admired his beautiful brown eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice raw and fragile. “I’ll never do this again. I promise. I never wanted to hurt you. I was desperate, and I let my own twisted mind control me. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I’ll do everything to make this right. Please... stay with me.”

You looked into his eyes, seeing the vulnerable man who had been pushed to extremes. The cold dim room seemed to shrink around you, the shadows of his past mistakes lingering but overshadowed by his sincere apology. You took a deep breath, your own heart softening despite the pain.

“I’m here,” you whispered back, your voice was soothing him.

He nodded against your shoulder, his sobs gradually subsiding as he clung to you.

���Despite everything... despite your scheming and the cold, manipulative persona you put up, you have no idea how much I love you,” you whispered, the words heavy with the depth of your emotions.

Dazai’s eyes softened as he met your gaze, his voice trembling as he replied, “I love you too, my dear.”

With those words, he kissed you softly, his lips warm and tender against yours. The delicate caress of his kiss pulled you closer, making you surrender to the embrace he offered. In that fleeting moment, the outside world faded away, leaving only the solace of his arms and the twisted love you shared.

➵Want more of Osamu Dazai ?

[pfpanimes]

⌕ bungo stray dogs - chuuya.

like or reblog if you save/use. 🤍

[not-myo]

Average interaction between these two mfs in bsd beast be like:

[with-my-calamitous-love]

WHAT IF I TOLD YOU NONE OF IT WAS ACCIDENTAL?

dazai x reader

the first night dazai saw you, he knew nothing would stop him.

for his birthday!

inspired by mastermind

osamu dazai, for all his life, had not felt the warm bliss of love. he did not have a mothers arms to lay in, or a fathers protection to shield him. he didn't have the privilege of a second family through friends, or even the comfort of loving himself. osamu dazai was not given love, not even for a moment, so he taught himself how to gain it. he was only cryptic and machiavellian because he cared, more than he wanted to admit.

so the moment he saw you, he felt a desire stronger than ever. you wouldn't require just a simple trick or a con- no, you deserved more. he laid out the groundwork, equations in his a mind a labyrinth of desperation only you could suffice.

osamu dazai wanted you.

and he knew how to get you.

honestly, who could blame him?

dazai was a master of people. he knows how to play people like puppets to get what he wants. none of it was accidental when it came to you. the coincidental run-ins at your favorite coffee shop that was at least a 30 minute cab ride for him. the times you conveniently forgot your umbrella when you swore you packed it, and dazai just happening to be passing by on your walk home. even the time you had just been dumped by your ex-boyfriend over the phone, and dazai just happened to show up at your doorstep just checking in.

maybe you should have noticed how fabricated it was at first. but you didn’t. dazai wanted you. and he made you want him.

dazai made you want every part of him. his silky hair his deep brown eyes, his honeyed voice and his suave way of walking. he made you want all of him, the good and the bad, his charm and his want for death, his desire to be good and the deep dark past of who he once was. dazai played love like a puppet show. whenever you laid on his chest, snuggled into his warmth, or when your lips were hopelessly pressed against his, dazai knew he had you. he knew he made you want him.

whether you find out or not isn't a concern to the brunette. you love him unconditionally anyway- you're his belladonna, his love, his everything. when he kisses you, the planets and stars align as if all of the pain in his life had led him here. the empty core in his heart aches at the thought of being eased, as if afraid of being happy. but your touch melts it away. you see that he is so touch starved, so deprived of love that he just had to assess the equation of you. he did this for as much for you as he did for him, knowing that he could live through even just one more day if it meant he could love you.

he needs your fingers to intertwine with his the way a chess player needs the queen. he needs your warmth like the largest gear needs the smallest gear in a machine. he needs your reassurance like the way water needs oxygen. because osamu dazai understands a lot of things well- chess, machinery, chemical compositions, and the way you love him. he knows its a need. he knows he needs your love not like his inner child wanted candy, he knows he needs your love the way the flower needs the sun.

his eyes stir awake, sunlight filtering through the curtains of your bedroom. his skin tickles, his cheek being peppered by your kisses. a smile tugs at his lips as he stretches his arms over his head and then around you, greeting you with a "good morning" in the deepest morning voice you have ever heard. dazai was usually light sleeper, but with you he could truly rest and escape into the sheets with you.

"happy birthday, 'samu." you hum, tracing your fingers down his abdomen. every contour of his bandaged yet muscled chest screamed at you to love him with everything in you. you would kiss every inch of him- starting from his hair to the very depths of his soul if you could.

"hm?" he quips, coffee eyes slightly widening.

you chuckle. "its june 19th."

"oh."

in all honesty, his birthday is the last thing on his mind, especially when you're in front of him. you are so, so, fucking beautiful he isn’t even sure you’re real. not just beautiful in your absolutely angelic complexion, but you're beautiful simply when you're you. when you're on top of him, the new sunlight on the earth dancing on your skin. lips bruised from the night's fleeting passion, hair messy and soul absolutely smothered in him. you drove him crazy, and he'd gladly lose his mind for you.

"thank you, bella." he hums, lazily draping an arm over you, as if there was anyway he could possibly pull you closer. dazai would find a way if it meant loving you harder. never, in a million years, did he think his partner would drag him out of bed and to the living room. he rubs his eyes, finding the agency standing in your apartment, an excited atsushi and a begrudging but willing kunikida, surrounding a cake for him. he never thought it would turn out like this, this good. he's stunned for a moment- a rare emotion for the young prodigy. was... this also apart of his plan?

maybe not. but as he kissed you and whispered a passionate "thank you" into your ear, he decides that this wasn't planned- it was luck. and he loved it. funny how sometimes you just find things.

[vampireunderthesunlight]

Chuuya x Reader comfort cuddles while reader is sick X3

“I'd do this and more.”

HEADCANONS

would try to finish the missions as soon as possible and give someone else the paperwork to fill out to get home sooner

actually it's one of the few periods in which you see each other practically all the time because he's usually in the office and on missions a lot and you see each other in the evenings, at dates and on days off

He doesn't get sick often, so the first few times he had to take care of you it was a bit of a mess

Makes dinner for you. Always.

If it's something serious he'll even ask Mori for advice

He'll cuddle with you all the time he's at home

SLICE OF LIFE

You were sitting on the couch in your apartment, blankets all over you and a book on your lap, when someone knocks at your door. You don't even have to check, given the time (8pm), it's surely Chuuya. You lazily get up, walk to the door -still covered in blankets- and open it. The red haired man walks in muttering a "good evening" and lets himself fall on the sofa. You close the door and guess he just got back from a mission. His coat is dirty and he's holding his hat in his hands.

"Good evening..." you reply, your voice a bit shuffled.

He turns his head and looks at you narrowing his eyes "are you sick?" He asks, even though you know he doesn't really need a confirmation. "What's with the blankets, it's not even cold. Damnit, you know you should tell me when something's off," he starts babbling about how he would have come home sooner if he had known, and in the meantime he gets up, throws his coat and hat on the couch and moves to the kitchen. You follow him around sighing, still holding onto your blankets.

"Chuuya, it's just a cold. There's no need for yo-"

He shuts you up with a shh and puts a cup of tea in your hands. "I'm preparing dinner." He says, with an assertive voice.

You stare at the cup for a few moments, then shrug and sit down on a chair, observing him while he cooks. "Thank you." You say.

"Shut it. I love you." He replies "I'd do this and more." He adds, muttering.

You smile and get up, walking behind him wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your head against his shoulder. "I love you too."

He smiles slightly and kisses your cheek.

a/n: this was so cute thank you so much ahhhh

[ceranchi]

Dazai with a cheater girlfriend

Dazai is a complex character with a history of self-destructive behavior and a tendency towards nihilism. His reaction to a cheating girlfriend would likely be unpredictable and influenced by his own internal struggles. However, based on his character traits, here are some possible

* Self-Loathing: He could blame himself, seeing the infidelity as a consequence of his own flaws or a testament to his unworthiness of love.

* Dark Humor: Dazai might respond with a twisted sense of humor, making morbid jokes about the situation or his own heartbreak.

* Cynical and Dismissive: "Oh, well. Another day, another disappointment. How predictable."

* Self-Deprecating: "I suppose it's only natural. After all, I'm a walking disaster."

* Manipulative: "You know, I could understand if you left me for someone more interesting. But this? This is just pathetic."

* Poignant and Vulnerable (unlikely, but possible): "I thought I was different. I thought I could hold onto something real. But I was wrong, as always."

* A Quiet Confrontation: Dazai, seemingly calm, confronts his girlfriend. His voice is flat, his eyes devoid of emotion. He asks her about the infidelity, his words cutting through the silence. As she stumbles to explain, he listens, a faint smirk playing on his lips. He then turns and walks away, leaving her alone with her guilt and his silent judgment.

* "Another day, another disappointment. How predictable." He scoffs, a bitter smile playing on his lips. "Love, loyalty, trust—mere illusions, fleeting as the morning mist."

* Yet, beneath his cynical exterior, a pang of pain pierces his heart. "I thought I was different. I thought I could escape the cycle. But I'm just another pawn in this cruel game of life."

* Detached Manipulation: Dazai might initially react with a dismissive attitude, perhaps even a hint of amusement. He could use the situation to manipulate her emotions, playing on her guilt and fear of losing him.

Dismissive and Cynical: * Dazai might downplay the significance of the betrayal, dismissing it as another instance of human weakness and the inevitability of suffering. * He might even use it as an opportunity to further indulge in his self-destructive tendencies, seeing it as a justification for his own nihilistic worldview.

Deeply Hurt and Betrayed: * Despite his cynical exterior, Dazai is capable of forming deep emotional connections. If he truly cares for his girlfriend, he may be deeply hurt and betrayed by her actions. * This could lead to a period of introspection and self-doubt, as he questions the meaning of relationships and the possibility of genuine human connection.

. Manipulative and Controlling: * Dazai's manipulative tendencies might surface, as he attempts to control the situation and his girlfriend's emotions. * He may use guilt, emotional blackmail, or even self-harm to manipulate her into staying with him.

. Sudden Departure: * In a more dramatic turn, Dazai might abruptly disappear from his girlfriend's life, unable to cope with the emotional turmoil caused by the betrayal. * This could be a way for him to avoid further pain and to escape into his own self-destructive fantasies.Ultimately, Dazai's reaction would depend on the specific circumstances of the situation and the depth of his feelings for his girlfriend. However, it is likely to be complex, unpredictable, and potentially harmful to both himself and those around him.....

* Self-Destructive Behavior: In a more extreme reaction, Dazai might resort to self-harm or reckless behavior as a way to punish himself or to elicit sympathy from his girlfriend.

* Sudden Departure: He might abruptly disappear without a trace, leaving her bewildered and heartbroken. This could be his way of escaping the pain and avoiding further emotional entanglement.

* Fear of Intimacy: Dazai's fear of intimacy and his tendency to sabotage relationships could lead him to push his girlfriend away, even if he still cares for her.

* Self-Loathing: Deep-rooted self-loathing could make him believe that he doesn't deserve love or happiness, and that any attempt at a meaningful relationship is doomed to fail.

[nyxavia]

thinking about akutagawa.. akutagawa, who still has so much to learn about and around sex. his hands are on his lovely girlfriend, taking her from behind. although a bit to harshly!

"was that too hard?"

he'd say in a worried tone, brows furrowing in the slightest.

"it was.. i enjoyed it, but you don't want me to finish just yet."

a grin.. and he'd mirror it, taking the message however. he doesn't say anything from there apart replying a hum, but if she could see him.. she'd see a look of let me make it up to you. as his hands would snake their way around her waist this time around.

[still-fatemeh]

"nothin' quite like how a dog loves"

Beast chuuya x OC

°•I’ve grown accustomed to it all, and have leaned to bear it but sometimes any degree of loneliness can bring you down•°

Chuuya's muscles were screaming at him. It felt like all the liquid in his body had evaporated, leaving the joints dry and painful. His head was the worst part. It was throbbing, begging him not to get up, to stay in that semi-peaceful slumber,

to rest.

He jolted awake in a familiar bed.

His own bed, his own apartment.

That assisted a tiny bit in soothing his nerves. He didn’t want to wake up in Port Mafia's infirmary, everyone would be there, looking at the unstoppable force that the executive, the right hand man of the boss, Nakahara Chuuya was, passed out and unable to move. Expressing pity at his state and saying they're sure he'd get back on his feet as soon as possible.

He tried to get out of bed in his hazy state, but a hand gently pressed him back down. He tried to resist it and fully get up, but he felt a light sting in his left hand. He groggily twisted his neck in that direction to identify what was causing him pain and try to get rid of it. He lifted his left arm, reaching to get the needle out of his skin and get up. But his right wrist was saized before he managed to get rid of the IV drip. He kept at it, still trying to get rid of the needle that pricked his skin in that ill state.

He needed to get up, he needed to go.

But where?

He heard someone click their tongue and he recognised her when she leaned down to whisper to him. The ends of her long black locks tickling his senses.

"Chuuya, can you hear me?"

Of course he could hear her! What has she taken him for? A retard?

His ears worked perfectly, or at least he thought they did, because as she moved closer and he could finally see her, he could see her lips moving but he couldn't hear anything. His field of vision was limited, and everything was blurred.

Has the lights in his bedroom always been this blinding?

His head was forcing him to shut his eyes, but he persisted, kept looking up at takako as she spelt out the words for him.

Three - hours - since - you - passed out

Don't worry - Don't move - everything's fine

Why was she talking to him like that? How dare she talk to him like she would do to a toddler! What's next, forcing a pacifier into his mouth to put him to sleep? Her audacity...

His lungs felt like they were on fire, and as his ears cleared up a bit, he still couldn't hear anything but white noise. His ears were ringing, but the first thing he heard clearly was the sound of himself gasping, begging for air to get in that Godforsaken lungs of his so could finally breathe. God... He sounded so pathetic, choking like a dying animal, but he couldn’t help it. He needed air. He needed to survive. He needed it more than anything else. But it was as if the air around him was devoid of oxygen, refusing to cooperate and go to his goddamn lungs.

"Please," He wanted to beg,

"This hurts..."

"So what?" He heard another voice say. He whipped his head in the direction of the voice so quickly that it felt like his neck had snapped.

"You've been through worse. Get up!" The voice barked at him. Despite the fact that it was eerily familiar, he couldn't place it. He had no idea who that voice belonged to or what it was.

"Or lie down and die."

He knew this one very well, the bastard who'd wormed his way into boss's seat. He needed to kill him, snap that puny neck of his, and get it over with...

"lie down and die."

Dazai whispered again, this time in a tone filled with melancholy, but chuuya couldn't see it as anything but condescension.

"lie down and die, chuuya."

It was as if that bastard was talking to a dog, ordering him around like that! He needed to kill that bastard, he had to-

"CHUUYA!"

Takako's voice came out harsher this time as she attempted to force him down again.

But he...

He wanted to kill that bastard. He needed to finish it this time. The rage felt excruciating to bear. It was blinding him more than he already was. He had to get up, to keep moving...

He jerked up his left hand, ripping the IV catheter out of his skin. Blood spattered the pristine white sheets that had replaced his black and scarlet bed covers.

Takako forcibly pushed him down this time, he opened his mouth to protest, to tell her to fuck off. Get the fuck out of his face, out of his house.

But before he could utter a single word, bile rose to his throat, and he retched.

He wished it was only dry heaving because no... he had to puke his guts out right then and there.

Disgusting, that was disgusting.

Some of it, no a lot of it got on ko's shirt. His hand moved aimlessly to try and push her away, to get her to stop looking at him and the pathetic little mess he was. But she just stood there, keeping a gauze on his vein after he ripped the needle out and rubbed soothing circles on his back.

He wanted it to end. He wanted to disappear.

God, he needed to get up.

He had to get up.

The vomit stained the bedsheets once more, and he felt like it wasn't gonna end.

.

.

.

After he spilt out everything he'd eaten the day before he used corruption, he sat up straight as he attempted to get out of bed, dazed.

There was nothing in the world that he hated more than the recovery process that came after corruption.

But he just sat there as takako moved around, wrapping bandages around the area that was freshly wounded due to his stubborn need to pluck the IV needle out of his skin and pulling the sheets off the bed so she could replace them with clean ones.

"A nurse would've sufficed. Why are you here?"

His voice came out small and strained. On the contrary, his gaze was steely, his jaw clenched.

"Please... Do you think a nurse would've been enough to handle your antics?" She said, raising her hand to brush his hair away from his face.

He felt the soft pad of her finger against his skin as she brushed the copper strands of hair out of his face. She wasn't wearing any gloves. Her hand felt cold on his forehead, working its magic to cool the bonfire that burned away in his head.

[moomuzan]

— 𝖇𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖙

your wounds are critical! chuuya , akutagawa , dazai , two endings: no-comfort & comfort , requested

Unraveling, the night was a cacophony of chaos. The scent of blood lingered in the air, mingling with the acrid tang of gunpowder. The world around him was a haze of noise and movement, but Chuuya saw none of it. He was focused on you, lying on the cold pavement, your body still and fragile in the growing pool of your own blood.

“Hey,” he rasped, his voice breaking as he dropped to his knees beside you, his hands trembling as they hovered over the wound in your abdomen. “Stay with me. Don’t you dare give up on me now.”

You blinked up at him, your vision hazy and unfocused. The corners of your lips quirked in a weak attempt at a smile, the kind you always gave him when you were trying to reassure him—even now, when you were the one who needed reassurance.

“Ch-Chuuya… I’m fine…” Your words were a whisper, barely audible over the pounding in his ears.

“No, you’re not!” he snapped, his voice raw and desperate. “Don’t say that. You’re not fine—you’re bleeding out!” His gloved hands pressed down on the wound, trying to stem the relentless flow of crimson that spilled between his fingers.

It was everywhere, staining his hands, soaking into his coat, dripping onto the ground—The sight of your blood shattered something inside him. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You were supposed to be untouchable, invincible, his equal in every way. You were his partner, the one person he trusted to have his back.

And now you were slipping away.

He threw his hat aside, his fiery hair clinging to his forehead, damp with sweat. His eyes glistened, but no tears fell—not yet. Instead, his fury burned hotter than ever.

“They’ll pay for this,” he growled under his breath, his voice low and venomous. “Every single one of them. I’ll make them regret the day they thought they could touch you.”

But his anger was hollow, a desperate attempt to distract himself from the reality unfolding in front of him. Every breath you took was shallower than the last, and he couldn’t stop the dread creeping into his heart.

happy ending

Chuuya didn’t leave your side—not for a second. He carried you in his arms, running through the streets with a single-minded determination that bordered on madness. The people who dared to get in his way didn’t live long enough to regret it.

When he finally reached an empty building, he laid you down on a makeshift bed, his hands working with frantic precision to tend to your wounds. He tore off his gloves, his fingers shaking as he cleaned and dressed the injury, his mind screaming at him to stay calm.

“Don’t you dare die on me,” he muttered under his breath, his voice cracking. “You hear me? I’m not letting you go. Not like this.”

As the hours passed in agonizing silence, broken only by the sound of your labored breathing, Chuuya sat beside you, his hand wrapped around yours, his thumb brushing against your knuckles. He spoke to you—soft, quiet words filled with guilt and love, his usually sharp tone now trembling with vulnerability.

When your eyes finally fluttered open, your voice was faint but steady. “Chuuya…”

Relief flooded his face, and he leaned closer, his forehead resting against yours. “You scared the hell out of me,” he whispered. “Don’t ever do that again, you hear me?”

You smiled weakly, squeezing his hand. “I’ll try.”

Chuuya didn’t let go of you, not that night or the nights that followed. He stayed by your side, caring for you with a tenderness that only you ever got to see, his usual brash demeanor softened by the sheer relief of having you alive.

sad ending

Chuuya’s fury burned like a wildfire, consuming everything in its path. He carried you to the nearest safe house, his movements quick and precise, but his heart was a storm of fear and guilt.

Once inside, he worked tirelessly to tend to your wounds, his hands steady but his mind fractured. He talked to you, begged you to stay awake, to fight, but your responses grew weaker and weaker.

When he finally finished patching you up, he collapsed into a chair beside the bed, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. The room was too quiet, the sound of your breathing too faint.

“You’ve got to pull through,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “I can’t do this without you. I need you.”

Hours passed, and Chuuya didn’t move. His eyes were fixed on you, on the shallow rise and fall of your chest, on the pale color of your skin. He wanted to believe you would wake up, that you would pull through like you always did.

But doubt gnawed at him, an unrelenting reminder of the fragility of life. The memory of your blood on his hands, of the way your body had gone limp in his arms, haunted him like a ghost.

When dawn broke, the faint light spilling through the window did nothing to ease his torment. He sat there, still as stone, waiting, hoping, praying for a sign that you would come back to him.

But you didn’t wake—not yet. And Chuuya was left in the agonizing limbo of uncertainty, caught between the hope that you would survive and the crushing guilt that he had failed to protect you.

For the first time in his life, Chuuya Nakahara felt truly powerless. And it was a feeling he would never forgive himself for.

,

As a mentor Akutagawa had always been unrelenting, cold, and merciless. The way he barked orders and pushed you beyond your limits was suffocating at times, but you knew it stemmed from something deeper—a warped belief in perfection, in power, in survival. He demanded nothing less than absolute excellence, and you worked tirelessly to meet his expectations, even when they left you bruised and battered.

However, this mission was different. It was dangerous, even by his standards, and the risk was glaringly obvious. He had chosen you for it anyway, confident in your ability to deliver. Confidence that now felt like arrogance as he scoured the desolate streets, his coat whipping around him in the wind, his sharp eyes darting in search of any sign of you.

You were late—far too late. And by the time these hours turned to days, dread began to sink its claws into him, deeper and deeper with every second of silence. He replayed the last time he’d seen you, the way you’d nodded with quiet determination when he gave you your orders. You had trusted him, relied on him to prepare you. And now, the thought that you might be gone, that he had sent you to your death, was a weight he couldn't bear.

When he finally found you, collapsed in a heap in the shadows of a back alley, his breath caught in his throat. Blood soaked your clothes, dripping onto the cracked pavement below. Your skin was pallid, your chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. You looked like a ghost of yourself, barely clinging to life.

Akutagawa stood frozen for a moment, his mind racing with emotions he didn’t know how to process. Anger, guilt, and something else—a foreign ache that felt far too close to grief. He approached you slowly, his usual sharp, deliberate movements replaced by something hesitant, almost tender.

“Fool,” he hissed under his breath, though his voice wavered. “Why didn’t you retreat when it became too much? Why didn’t you come back to me?”

Stirring slightly at the sound of his voice, your eyes fluttered open just enough to meet his gaze. “I… I thought I could handle it,” you whispered, your voice so faint it was almost swallowed by the wind.

Akutagawa clenched his jaw, kneeling beside you. His hands hovered over you, unsure of where to start. He had always been so sure of himself, so in control, but now? Now, he felt powerless.

happy ending

Akutagawa wasted no time. He lifted you into his arms, his expression hardening into a mask of determination. He wasn’t going to lose you—not like this.

Instinctively, he brought you to the Mafia hideout, ignoring the startled glances of the other members as he stormed through the corridors. His focus was singular, his steps purposeful as he gathered everything he needed to tend to your wounds.

For hours, he worked in silence, his sharp, precise movements betraying the storm brewing inside him. He cleaned and bandaged your wounds with care that seemed almost out of character, his hands steady despite the turmoil in his chest.

When you finally regained consciousness, your voice was weak but steady. “Why are you… doing this?”

Not looking at you, his focus was hyper-fixed on tightening the last bandage around your arm. “Because you’re still my responsibility,” he muttered, though the words carried an undercurrent of something deeper.

Over the next few weeks, he rarely left your side. He ensured you had everything you needed to recover, from medical supplies to food, though he never lingered long enough for the conversations to grow soft. He kept his distance emotionally, even as his actions betrayed his concern.

On the day you were finally strong enough to stand on your own, you thanked him quietly, and for a brief moment, something unspoken passed between you. His gaze lingered on you a second too long before he turned away, his coat billowing as he walked toward the door.

“Don’t fail me again,” he said, though his voice lacked its usual bite. And when you joined him on the battlefield once more, it was as though nothing had changed—except for the silent understanding that he would never let you fall again.

sad ending

Lost in motion, Akutagawa carried you to a secluded place, far from the chaos of the city, where the air was still and heavy with the scent of earth and rain. He laid you down gently, his hands trembling as he tried to stop the bleeding, to keep you alive. But the wound was too deep, the damage too severe.

“You’re going to be fine,” he said, though his voice lacked its usual conviction. It sounded more like a plea than a statement, a desperate attempt to will the universe into giving him more time.

Smiling faintly—your lips pale and cracked. “You don’t… have to lie,” you whispered, your words slurred with exhaustion.

“Stop talking,” he snapped, though his tone was more broken than angry. “Save your strength.”

Of course, you didn’t stop. “I… wanted to prove myself to you,” you murmured, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment before you forced them open again. “I wanted… to be someone you could rely on.”

As Akutagawa’s chest tightened, he surely didn’t know what to say. He had always believed in power, in strength, in the cold, unfeeling logic of survival. But now, as he watched you slip away, he realized how hollow those beliefs felt without you by his side.

“Don’t go,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. His hand hovered over yours, hesitating before he finally took it, his grip firm but trembling. “You don’t get to leave me like this. Not after everything.”

Your breathing grew slower, more labored, until it finally stopped altogether. Akutagawa didn’t move, didn’t speak. He sat there, his hand still clutching yours, his usually cold, emotionless expression shattered by a grief he couldn’t contain.

When the sun rose, casting its golden light over the world, he was still there, silent and still, watching over your lifeless body as though he could bring you back to life through sheer force of will. But no matter how much he wanted to, you were gone. And he was left with nothing but the ghost of your presence and the crushing weight of his own failure.

,

Dazai Osamu had always been an artist of detachment, a master of keeping the world at arm’s length, of slipping between roles and masks until even he could no longer remember where the performance ended and the truth began. But with you, he’d let himself forget the artifice, if only for fleeting moments. You, the civilian who had somehow carved your way into the abyss of his existence, had become an unwelcome but intoxicating anomaly.

Though he never admitted it—not even to himself, you were his sanctuary. The weight of his sins seemed lighter when he lay beside you, your warmth an anchor against the ever-present pull of the void. You were the only piece of his life untainted by blood, betrayal, and violence, and that was why he kept you far away from the shadows that clung to him like a second skin.

But no matter how hard Dazai tried to shield you, the world he belonged to always found a way to destroy everything good.

The hitmen weren’t looking for you. They wanted him—Dazai Osamu, the man who had walked out of hell and left corpses in his wake. But when they didn’t find him, they found you instead. And they made you their message.

He came home to silence—a silence that wasn’t the kind you filled with soft conversation or lazy laughter. This silence was heavier, darker, and it hit him in the chest like the memory of a long-forgotten betrayal.

Dazai knew before he even saw the blood.

The sight of you lying there, your body broken and barely clinging to life, stole the air from his lungs. For a moment, he stood frozen, his mind blank as the weight of it all came crashing down. And then something primal snapped inside him.

His voice was low as he called out your name, trembling, barely audible. He dropped to his knees beside you, his fingers shaking as he touched your blood-streaked face, as if he were afraid you’d shatter beneath his touch.

You were still breathing, but it was faint, so faint that he felt like every second could be your last.

“Why—why did this have to happen?” he whispered, his words more to himself than to you. He pressed his forehead to yours, his eyes burning with unshed tears. “I kept you away from all of this, didn’t I? I thought I did...”

And yet, even in this, he couldn’t escape the guilt, the bitter irony of how his world devoured anything it touched.

happy ending

Against all odds, you survived. Dazai, his hands unsteady but precise, tended to your wounds in those first crucial hours, working with a focus born of desperation. He called in favors, used every connection he had to ensure you lived.

When you finally opened your eyes, weak and disoriented, he was there. His face betrayed nothing, but his hands—gentle as they brushed the hair from your face—told a different story.

“You’re safe now,” he murmured, though the words felt hollow even to him.

In the days that followed, he didn’t leave your side. He cared for you with a devotion so intense it bordered on obsession. He bought you whatever you needed, whatever you might want, as if material things could erase the pain, as if spoiling you could atone for his failure.

But no matter how much he gave, the guilt never left. Every time he looked at you, he saw the scars—both the ones on your skin and the ones buried deeper, in places he could never reach.

Dazai, the man who had once thought himself untouchable, now found himself tethered to a new kind of torment: the knowledge that he had been the one to bring ruin to the one thing he loved.

sad ending

But fate wasn’t kind, and this time, the genius himself couldn’t outsmart the universe.

You didn’t make it.

Holding you as the life drained from your body, his voice was soft and trembling as he whispered words meant to soothe, to distract you from the pain.

“Just stay with me a little longer,” he pleaded, his tone almost casual, as if he could trick you into staying by pretending this wasn’t goodbye. “We’ll laugh about this later, won’t we? You’ll make fun of me for being so dramatic, and I’ll tell you how ridiculous you are for worrying me like this.”

Still, even as he spoke, he felt your breaths grow weaker, your body heavier in his arms. And when you finally stilled, when the silence became absolute, Dazai didn’t cry.

Instead, he sat there, holding you, his mind a maelstrom of thoughts too fractured to form words. He replayed every moment he’d spent with you, every smile, every laugh, every time you had looked at him like he was more than the sum of his sins.

And now you were gone.

The hitmen who had done this would pay—of that, he was certain. But even vengeance felt hollow, meaningless, because no amount of bloodshed could bring you back.

As he laid your body down and stepped away, he thought of all the times he had tried to leave the darkness behind, all the times he had thought you might be the one to pull him out of it.

In the end, Dazai was a man who destroyed everything he touched. And now, as he walked away from the life you would never return to, he realized that perhaps he had always known this would end in ruin.

Because that’s what he was: ruin, wrapped in charm and wit and hollow smiles. And this—losing you—was the cost of pretending he could be anything else.

thx for reading <3

[thewickedjazzy]

𓇢𓆸𝑰 𝑾𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝑯𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑱𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝑻𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𓂃 ִֶָ𐀔

➵𝓟𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼: beast dazai x f! reader x beast chuuya

➵𝓢𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂: beastzai is intensely toxic and manipulative towards you, treating you as his puppet. despite his twisted behaviour and control, you unexpectedly start developing feelings for chuuya.

➵𝓣𝓪𝓰𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽 : sfw, 11.3k of pure angst, hurt/no comfort? slight fluff, abuse, toxic relationship, dark themes, unaware relationship, falling out of love, physical abuse, emotional manipulation, emotional distress, intense themes, dark romance, psychological trauma, death mentioned, guns, mafia themes..*lord have mercy*

➵𝓝𝓸𝓽𝓮: hi hi! I spent a whole month working on this fic, and it was really tough trying to come up with fresh ideas that didn’t feel like my other stories. But I decided to try something different this time—totally unexpected! Just a heads-up, it's super emotional, so you might want to have some tissues nearby because it even made me tear up, I swear!

The ink had barely dried when you realized you had sold your soul.

You felt your pulse in your throat, even muffling your ears as the contract lay between you, the elegant script of your name stark against the cold, white paper. It was supposed to be a testament to your love, an act of devotion that was meant to bind you both in a bond unbreakable until death parted you. You had signed it with trembling hands, convinced that this was the key to a future you had always dreamed of—a future by his side, where you would be cherished, protected, and loved.

But love was never part of the deal.

The first few months felt like a dream. His touch was warm, his words like honey that poured into the empty spaces of your heart, filling them with sweet illusions. He had promised you the world, and you had believed him. You had wanted so desperately to believe that this contract was a symbol of your bond, that it meant he saw you as an equal, a partner.

But as the days turned to weeks, and the weeks to months, the honey began to taste bitter.

His warmth turned cold, his touch became a chain, and the promises—oh, the promises—revealed themselves as lies dressed in silver and silk. You were no partner, no equal. You were a possession, a carefully crafted doll that danced to the tune of his commands, your strings pulled tighter with each passing day.

And now, with you on your knees in the dim lit room, the truth finally sank in. The contract wasn’t a bond of love; it was a cage, a cruel joke that only he was in on. You had signed away your freedom, your life, to a cunning man who had never intended to let you go.

The ink had barely dried, but your heart had already started to bleed.

In the lavish confines of Dazai’s private quarters, shadows stretched long and sinister across the opulent velvet drapes and intricate furnishings. The room, a testament to decadence with its flowing silks and priceless relics, exuded an atmosphere of icy desolation and stifling tension, where every corner seemed to whisper of unspoken dominance, a reminder of the dark authority that presided over this space.

His hand gripped your hair with a cruel twist, yanking your head back forcing you to look at him. His eyes, piercing and cold, drilled into yours with an expression of bitter disappointment. The smirk that curved his lips was devoid of warmth, a chilling mask of control and disdain.

You knelt before him, every muscle in your body straining to maintain a rigid posture despite the tremors that coursed through you. The hem of your burgundy silk robe had slipped off your shoulder with each harsh jolt of his grip, leaving you exposed and vulnerable. His fingers, entwined cruelly in your hair, wrenched your head back further, forcing you to lock eyes with his merciless gaze.

“Do you think this is some sort of game, darling?” He hissed, moving his face closer to yours. “Did you actually believe you could act against my orders and escape unscathed?”

"Every time you go against my commands, you only prove how little you understand your place." He tugged at your hair, a harsh reminder of his control, his eyes never leaving yours. "I could have shown you mercy, but you seem to believe that you’re entitled to something more than the role I’ve given you. You’re nothing more than a toy to me, and toys that malfunction need to be fixed."

The chill in his voice was palpable, made your mouth go dry. "If you dare to disobey me again, I won’t just deal with you harshly. I’ll make sure you remember your place with every fiber of your being. This is your last warning. Test me again, and I’ll enjoy watching you break."

He released his grip on your hair, the finality in his gesture echoing through the room. His gaze lingered, a final reminder of the cruel power he wielded over you, as he turned away, leaving you alone with the sting of his words and the weight of your broken dreams.

You took a ragged breath swallowing heavily and trying your best to hold back your tears. You replayed the scene in your mind. Dazai had called a critical meeting, standing in the middle of the meeting room as he outlined the plan to dismantle the rising organization that threatened their dominance in elaborate detail. You, seated at the long mahogany table, had grown increasingly restless, the grandiose vision he painted beginning to grate on your nerves.

As Dazai spoke, your patience wore thin. The more he elaborated on the intricacies of his plan, the more it seemed like a house of cards built on shaky ground. Unable to contain yourself any longer, you let out a scoff, a sound that cut through the room's uneasy silence.

“Seriously, Dazai?” you had said with a tone dripping with derision. “You really think this convoluted plan is the best way to handle this? It sounds like you’re trying to win a chess game against an opponent who’s only playing checkers.”

The room fell into a stunned silence. The members, who had been intently listening, now turned their eyes to you, their expressions a mix of shock and disapproval. Dazai’s gaze, which had been focused on the plan, snapped towards you with a chilling intensity. His eyes, normally so unreadable, burned with a cold fury and with the bandage that covered his left eye made his eyes more unreasonable. Chuuya, seated across from you, cast a sharp, warning glare in your direction. His expression was a silent but unmistakable message: you had overstepped, and you were about to pay the price.

His lips curved into a predatory smile, though it was devoid of warmth. “Is that so?” His voice was eerily calm, but there was a dangerous edge beneath the surface and you knew it, you knew whats about to come. “And pray tell, what do you suggest we do instead? I’m all ears.”

The meeting continued and you couldn't voice any thoughts, but you could feel the change in the atmosphere, a very noticable shift as if the walls themselves were closing in around you. Every word from him seemed to carry a weight of barely concealed menace, like he was waiting patiently for you to overstep the boundaries once again. The laughter and whispers that had once followed his speeches had turned into a deafening silence, punctuated only by the occasional click of a pen or the shuffling of papers.

As the meeting drew to a close and the room buzzed with the murmurs of dismissal, you rose from your seat, eager to escape the suffocating atmosphere without getting noticed. But just as you were about to leave, his voice cut through the noise with an icy edge.

“Not so fast,” he clicked his tongue. “Go to my quarters,” The command in his voice made you freeze, “Wait for me there.” Your hand gripping the back of the chair as you turned slowly to face him.

Chuuya, who had been observing the exchange with a deepening frown, cast a final, concerned glance at the unfolding scene. His brows knitted in worry. Despite his desire to act, the circumstances of the situation and his own status kept him paralyzed.

You nodded silently and turned to leave, each step felt like a descent into a personal hell. The cold, opulent halls of the mafia headquarters seemed to stretch endlessly, each corner echoing with the oppressive weight of what was to come.

And there you are, in his private quarters, the aftermath of that meeting lingered like a dark cloud. You were acutely aware of the weight of the contract you had signed, its promise of a future that now seemed like a cruel joke.

You had thought that by challenging his plan, you were asserting your own intelligence and capabilities. Instead, you had laid bare the depth of your disillusionment, sparking a fury that only served to reinforce his dominance.

You rose from the floor, your hands trembling as you rubbed at your neck, the marks left by Dazai’s grip still stinging and visible in the mirror's harsh light. Each trace of his touch seemed to burn with a reminder of your entrapment, and the sight made you nauseous. The reflection staring back at you was a cruel parody of the confidence you had once worn so easily.

An hour had passed in a blur of anguish, your mascara-streaked face a testament to the emotional storm that had ravaged you. You had cried until your tears ran dry, your sobs echoing off the cold, opulent walls of his quarters. Now, with your back against the tall windows, the city lights casting fleeting shadows across the room, you waited in tense silence.

You were trapped, not just within these walls, but within the labyrinth of your own emotions. Love and hate twisted together in a grotesque dance, each feeding off the other, until you could no longer distinguish where one ended and the other began. Dazai was your captor and your saviour, your tormentor and your solace. You hated him with every fiber of your being, yet you couldn’t imagine life without him. The cruel paradox of your existence, a twisted love that both sustained and destroyed you.

The soft click of the door opening jolted you from your thoughts. Dazai entered the room with a quiet grace, his presence filling the space with an oppressive authority. He moved with the confidence of a man who knew he held all the power, who knew you were his and his alone. As he settled into a nearby chair, his gaze fell upon you, and for a moment, time seemed to stop.

"Have you had time to think about your little outburst?" His voice was calm, too calm, the kind of calm that preceded a storm. His eyes were fixed on you as if waiting for your reckless response.

You swallowed hard, the knot in your throat tightening. "I’m sorry," you whispered, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to steady it. "I just wanted to provide my input, to help…"

A scoff escaped him, and though his expression remained unreadable, the shadow of a smirk remained the same on his lips. "Embarrass me? In front of my subordinates? Do you think that’s something I take lightly?"

You flinched, his words sinking deep into your chest. "I didn’t mean to—"

Dazai sighed, the sound heavy with a weariness that wasn’t lost on you. His hand lifted, a silent command for you to come closer.

Your heart kept pounding in your chest as you slowly pushed yourself away from the window, your legs trembling with each step. You fell to your knees before him, the cold floor biting into your skin as you looked up at him with wide, fearful eyes. His gaze was surprisingly gentle now, his eyes softening as they met yours. He reached out, cupping your cheeks in his hands. The warmth of his touch was unlike the earlier brutality. How could he be so cruel yet so gentle at times? You'd never know.

“Look at you, darlin’,” he said softly, his fingers brushing against the traces of mascara that had smudged your face, “you look much better when you’re obedient, hmm?”

His eyes drifted to the marks on your neck, and a sigh of regret escaped him. Did he even feel remorse? "I’m sorry," he whispered, though the apology felt like a mere formality, a concession to the damage he had inflicted. “I didn’t mean for it to get so rough,” 

Before you could fully process his change in demeanor, he lifted you effortlessly from the floor. You found yourself cradled in his arms, the sudden shift from cold distance to warmth disorienting always confused you. With a gentle yet firm grip, he carried you toward the bathroom, the opulence of the room giving way to the sterile, clean environment.

In the bathroom, he set you down by the sink and you stood there, staring at your reflection in the mirror, the sight of your broken self almost too much to bear. You were never like this—never so vulnerable, never this fragile.

His eyes met yours in the mirror, his expression unreadable as he gently grabbed a damp washcloth and wiped the smudged mascara from your face. The tenderness in his touch was a jarring hypocrisy compared to the cold cruelty he had shown you earlier, and it made your heart ache with a confusion you couldn’t untangle. meticulous, as he tended to your appearance.

“Darlin’,” he said, his tone lighter, "I expect a lot from you. I always have. But I also need you to remember you're not just a toy. I'm sorry for what I said earlier. You mean a lot to me, even if I don't always show it the way you need."

You loved him. God, how you loved him. Despite everything, despite the pain and the humiliation, you were obsessed with him. He was your world, the center of your universe, the one person who could make or break you with a single glance. But that love was a double-edged sword, cutting you deeper with each passing day. The same hands that caressed you with such care were the ones that left bruises on your skin. The same voice that whispered sweet nothings in your ear was the one that tore you apart with venomous words.

"I hate you," you thought bitterly, even as your heart cried out for him. "I hate you for what you’ve done to me, for making me love you like this."

But the truth was, you hated yourself more. For being so weak, for letting him break you, for still wanting him even when every part of you screamed to run away. You were trapped, bound to him by invisible chains, a prisoner of your own twisted desires.

He finished cleaning your face, his fingers lingering on your skin for a moment before he set the washcloth aside. He turned you to face him, his hands resting on your shoulders as he looked down at you with an expression that was almost...tender.

"Don’t make me hurt you again, my love," he said softly. Was it a threat or a plea? Again, you could never tell. "I don’t want to break you... but I will if I have to."

You nodded numbly, the words sticking in your throat as you tried to find your voice. "I won’t," you whispered finally, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue. You didn’t know if you could keep that promise, didn’t know if you could resist the urge to push back, to fight against the suffocating control he had over you.

But for now, you would pretend. You would play the part of the obedient porcelain doll, the perfect little puppet that danced to his tune. Because despite everything, you still craved his approval, still wanted his love, even if it was nothing more than a cruel illusion.

And that was the worst part of all.

He took a step back, his eyes scanning your now-clean face, as if searching for something. Perhaps he was looking for the woman he had first fallen for, the one who had signed away her soul in the name of love. Or perhaps he was looking for a sign that you were still his, still willing to endure whatever torment he decided to inflict, just for the chance to be by his side.

“I know you hate me,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “And yet, you can’t help but love me too, can you?”

You didn’t respond because there was nothing to say. He knew the truth as well as you did. The love was there, intertwined with the hate, a poisonous cocktail that you drank willingly every day.

His hand reached out, his fingers tracing your cheekbones before settling on the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your foreheads touched. “You’ll always be mine,” he murmured, his breath warm against your lips. “No matter how much you hate it, no matter how much you love it. You belong to me.”

And you did. You hated him for it, but you loved him even more for it. It was a twisted, toxic love, one that had consumed you whole. But it was the only love you knew, and so you clung to it, even as it tore you apart.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him. “I’m so sorry.”

His lips curved into a smile, one that was equal parts gentle and cruel. “Good girl,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Now, let’s put this behind us, shall we?”

You were his, for better or worse, until the end. And you would endure, because that’s all you could do.

But deep down, you knew—one day, the weight of that contract, of your love, would crush you completely.

And when that day came, you wondered if Dazai would even notice.

Dazai’s arm was draped over your waist, his warmth enveloping you in the stillness of the night. His breathing was steady, but you could feel the tension in your own body, a restlessness that wouldn’t let you surrender to sleep. You stared at the ceiling, your mind restless, unable to quiet the thoughts swirling in your head.

The memories of the day replayed themselves, his harsh words and the sting of his hand still fresh. Yet, for all the pain, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more—something you had long since buried under layers of survival.

Carefully, you began to slip out from under his arm, moving slowly to avoid waking him. You had become an expert at this over time—perfecting the art of leaving unnoticed. You dressed quickly in a plain outfit, something that would allow you to move quietly through the mansion.

Just as your hand touched the door, Dazai stirred, his hand reaching out to the empty space where you had been. His fingers brushed the sheets, searching for your warmth.

“Darlin’...where are you going?” His voice was soft, laced with sleep but edged with that familiar sharpness. Even half-awake, Dazai’s awareness was something to be reckoned with.

You turned back to him, keeping your voice calm and steady. “I can’t sleep, Osamu.” you murmured, brushing a hand through your hair. “I’m going to the studio. Just need to clear my head and paint for a bit.”

He blinked at you, still half-asleep, and nodded slowly. “Alright darlin’,” he murmured, his voice trailing off as he sank back into the pillows. “Don’t stay up too late.”

You offered a faint smile that he wouldn’t see in the darkness, even though doubt lingered in your heart. He trusted you, not because he was careless, but because this was routine—something you’d done many times before. Painting in the middle of the night was your escape, the one place where he let you be without question. Maybe because he knew you needed it. Or maybe because he thought there was nothing to worry about.

You watched him for a moment longer, ensuring his eyes were closed again before you quietly slipped out of the room. The door closed with a soft click, and you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

The penthouse was silent as you made your way through it, the city lights filtering through the large windows. Your art studio wasn’t far—just a few blocks away from Dazai’s penthouse, nestled in a quieter part of the city where you could find peace.

The streets were quiet at this hour, the city’s usual bustle replaced by a serene stillness. You breathed in the cool night air as you walked, the distance from the penthouse helping to clear your mind. The studio had become your sanctuary, a place where you could escape from everything, even if just for a little while.

When you arrived, the studio was just as you’d left it, an oasis of creativity nestled in the heart of the city. You unlocked the door and stepped inside, the scent of paint and canvas greeting you like an old friend. It was a small space, cozy and cluttered with half-finished projects, but it was yours. Here, you could breathe—here, you could forget.

You turned on a single lamp, the soft light illuminating the canvas that awaited you. It was an abstract piece full of dark swirls and sharp lines, a reflection of the turmoil inside you. The brush felt natural in your hand as you began to paint, your strokes quick and deliberate, losing yourself in the rhythm.

Yet, despite the comfort of the studio, a weight lingered in your chest—a heaviness that had nothing to do with the late hour or the paint fumes. It was Dazai.

Your thoughts kept drifting, your concentration wavering as you replayed the events of the past months. Dazai had always been a mystery—a man who treated you like a prized possession, something to be admired, controlled, but never truly acted like he loved you. He had his moments, of course—moments of gentleness, fleeting glimpses of a man who could care, who could be kind. But those moments were always followed by something darker—a harsh word with a bruising grip.

You weren’t sure if what you had with him was even a relationship. The lines between affection and possession had blurred long ago.

And yet, despite everything, you had stayed. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was something else, something you couldn’t quite name. But now, with each passing day, with each secret meeting at the studio, you felt your resolve wavering. There was someone else who occupied your thoughts more and more—someone who had never hurt you, who had only ever offered you kindness, warmth.

Your hand faltered on the canvas as your thoughts drifted to Chuuya. Over the past six months, your late-night meetings had become the one thing you looked forward to, the one thing that felt real. Chuuya was different—gentle in ways Dazai could never be, caring in a way that wasn’t calculated or fleeting. He never asked questions about the dark bags under yours that you tried your absolute best to hide with your concealer, never pressed you for answers. He was simply there, offering a quiet comfort that had slowly begun to fill the cracks in your heart.

You dipped your brush in a deep crimson, the colour bleeding onto the canvas in a sharp, harsh shade. It was the shade of blood—Dazai's hands, his clothes, stained night after night. But with a gentle shift, you softened the stroke, blending the red into the backdrop until it faded, becoming something warmer—something closer to the warmth you found with Chuuya.

But as you worked, you became aware of another presence in the room. It was subtle at first—the faint echo of footsteps, a soft rustling that barely disturbed the silence. You paused, your heart skipping a beat as you turned towards the secret passage that led to the back of the studio.

And then he was there, stepping out from the shadows like a memory made flesh. The mafia executive who had effortlessly stolen your heart.

His ginger locks caught the dim light, and he offered you a small, knowing smile. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

“I couldn't, It’s not finished yet,” you murmured, though even you could see how close it was to completion. The image on the canvas was abstract but familiar—an echo of your life, your feelings, laid bare in strokes of colour and shadow.

Chuuya crossed the room in a few quick strides, his hands finding your shoulders, gloved fingers gently massaged your tense muscles as he looked you over, his gaze lingering on the faint bruise peeking out from under your sleeve...he didn’t say anything—he never did—but the way his jaw tightened, the way his eyes darkened, told you enough.

You knew he noticed, with a soft sigh you reached up, placing your hand over his. “It’s fine,” you lied, though you both knew the truth.

He shook his head slightly, his fingers brushing against your cheek, tracing a path that was both tender and protective. “You shouldn’t have to say that,” he murmured, his voice carried a sadness he rarely allowed himself to show.

There was so much more you wanted to say in that moment—words that lingered on the tip of your tongue, feelings that you had tried so hard to bury. But instead, you simply leaned into his touch, finding comfort in his presence, in the safety he offered without ever needing to say it.

The two of you drank some wine as the night deepened, a bottle that Chuuya had brought with him, a quiet indulgence in a world that offered so few. You picked up your brush again, continuing the painting you had started, the colors flowing more freely now, less restrained.

Chuuya watched you as he always did, with a quiet admiration that never failed to make your heart flutter. How could someone like him exist in this world? So gentle, so pure, so loving? You never told him how you felt. There was no need to. Chuuya was perceptive, far more than he let on. He knew. And as much as he cared for you—more than he probably should have—he never acted on it. He knew the consequences, knew that you were Dazai’s. And yet, here you were, night after night, finding solace in his presence.

But tonight, the wine loosened your inhibitions, the brushstrokes on the canvas becoming bolder, more expressive. You could feel Chuuya’s eyes on you as you painted, a silent observer to the emotions you were pouring out onto the canvas.

When you finally stepped back, you studied the painting with a critical eye. It was abstract, filled with swirling colours and dark, chaotic strokes. But there, in the centre, was a figure—a man with fiery ginger hair, his back turned, and beside him, a woman, her features obscured but unmistakably you.

Chuuya approached, his eyes tracing the lines of the painting, his breath catching as he realized what you had done. You could see it in the way he tensed, in the way his eyes softened with something that looked like pain.

“Is that…” He didn’t finish the sentence, didn’t need to. The realization was there, hanging in the air between you.

You nodded, offering him a soft smile.“It is,” you replied simply, the words hanging between you like a quiet confession. Instead, he slipped off his glove, revealing the bare skin of his right hand, and gently reached out. His fingers ghosted across your cheek, a delicate touch, hesitant, as if you might vanish beneath his fingertips.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Chuuya’s gaze flickered between you and the painting, his heart fluttering with a confusing mix of emotions. He wanted to say so much to ask why, to tell you how much this meant to him. But the words wouldn’t come.

“I…” he started, but the words trailed off. What could he say? That he was touched beyond measure? That he didn’t know how to handle the feelings you stirred in him?

You placed your hand over his, leaning into his touch. “It’s okay, Chuuya,” you murmured. “You don’t have to say anything.”

Chuuya's hand lingered against your cheek for a bit longer, his touch as soft as the brushstrokes you had just painted. His thumb traced the outline of your face, so delicate, velvety even it almost felt like a whisper, like he was afraid you might shatter under his touch. But you didn’t. With him, you never did.

There was a warmth in Chuuya that didn’t demand, didn’t seize more than you could offer. Instead, his gentleness defied everything you had been taught to expect, everything you had come to accept as inevitable. It was a tenderness that stood in defiance of everything you had known with Dazai. Where Dazai’s hands were icy, sharp with toxic edge of possession, Chuuya’s were a haven—soft, steady, and sure, grounding you even as the shadows of your past threatened to consume you.

His fingers, calloused from years of battle, should’ve been rough, yet the way they caressed your skin was anything but. It was a tenderness that made your breath hitch, your heart fluttering as his presence filled the cracks of your heart. The weight that had clung to your chest moments ago seemed to lift, replaced by something lighter, something that made the air between you feel light as a feather.

"You're always too good to me," you whispered, barely audible, afraid that if you spoke too loudly, the moment would shatter. But he heard you, and you noticed how his gaze started softening even more as his fingers curled slightly against your skin.

"You deserve someone to be good to you," he murmured in return, his raspy voice made your stomach sink "I will forever protect you, won't let anyone take from you what you truly deserve."

"You don’t need to protect me, Chuuya," you sigh softly, “I’m a woman who’s been through too much to need protecting. I can handle myself.”

His gaze sharpened as he shook his head firmly. “No, I will protect you,” he replied, his voice brooking no argument. “Not because you need saving, not because you're a woman, but because you’re ‘my woman,’ and no one—not even Dazai—will take from you what you truly deserve.”

“Your… woman?” You stuttered, the question tumbling out before you could stop it. The idea felt foreign, surreal even.

The dim light from the lamp cast soft shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the soft curve of his lips, and the flame-red strands of hair that framed his features like something out of a dream. You found yourself captivated, as you always were, by how someone so dangerous could be so gentle with you.

And then, his eyes—those deep, stormy blue eyes—locked with yours, a silent question hanging in the air between you. You knew what he wanted to ask, what he had been holding back for months, and you answered before he could even speak. Your hand, still resting over his, gave a small squeeze, your own heart pounding in your chest.

In that moment, the world seemed to fade until there was nothing but him. The ginger leaned in slowly, hesitantly, as if giving you a chance to pull away—but you didn’t. You couldn’t.

When his lips finally met yours, it was as if time stopped. The kiss was soft, tentative, and filled with a sweetness that made your heart ache in ways you hadn’t thought possible. His lips moved against yours like he was afraid of breaking you, but there was a passion simmering just beneath the surface, one that spoke of everything he had kept buried for so long.

With Dazai, kisses had always been possessive, demanding, like he was trying to stake a claim, to remind you that you were his and his alone. There was never any softness in them, only a dark, consuming hunger that left you feeling hollow. But with Chuuya—oh, with Chuuya, it was different. His kiss was tender, unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world to make you feel wanted, cherished, safe.

You melted into him, your hand slipping up to tangle in his hair, tossing his hat aside and pulling him closer as you deepened the kiss. His hands slid down to your waist, holding you gently but firmly, grounding you in the moment. The world outside ceased to matter, the chaos of your life fading into the background until there was nothing but the quiet intimacy you shared with him.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together as you tried to steady your racing hearts. Chuuya’s eyes searched yours, his breath warm against your lips, and you could see the question there again—an unspoken plea, asking if this was real, if it was okay to want this, to want you.

“It’s okay, Chuuya,” you whispered, echoing the words you had said earlier, but this time, there was more behind them. There was a promise. A promise that, with him, you didn’t need to be afraid.

Chuuya's hand slid to cup the back of your neck, his thumb brushing lightly over your pulse. “You don’t have to stay with him,” he said quietly, his voice shaking with the weight of everything he wasn’t saying. “You deserve more than what he gives you.”

You closed your eyes, swallowing against the lump in your throat. He was right. You knew it, had known it for a long time. But leaving Dazai wasn’t as simple as walking away. There were consequences—ones that could ripple far beyond just you.

“I know,” you murmured, leaning into him, finding solace in the steady beat of his heart against your chest. “But it’s not that easy.”

Chuuya didn’t argue. He didn’t need to. Instead, he held you close, his arms wrapping around you as if shielding you from the world, from the pain that had become all too familiar.

You gentely pulled away from him and looked into his eyes, the desperation building inside you. The warmth of his touch lingered on your skin, but there was something heavier pressing against your chest—something you could no longer ignore.

“We could leave,” you whispered suddenly, your voice barely audible but heavy with the weight of your plea. “We could run away from all of this. Together. Far away. Somewhere Dazai can’t reach us.”

The words hung in the air, and for a brief moment, you saw something flicker in Chuuya’s eyes—hope, maybe, or the brief illusion of escape. But then, just as quickly, the reality of the situation settled over him like a dark cloud. He sighed, his hand sliding down to rest on your arm.

“You know we can’t do that,” he said quietly, his voice strained. “Dazai won’t take it lightly. He’s... not someone we can just leave behind.”

You knew he was right. You knew it the moment the words left your mouth, but still, the thought of staying in the suffocating grip of Dazai’s control was unbearable. You couldn’t live like this anymore—not with the strings he had wrapped around you so tightly that it felt like you were choking. You had been his puppet for too long, forced to dance on command, every move dictated by his whims, every decision manipulated to suit his goals.

“I can’t do it anymore, Chuuya,” you choked out, your voice trembling as the words tumbled from your lips. “I can’t stay with him, a slave to whatever sick game he’s playing. He’s made me do things—things I can’t even live with anymore. I’m not... I’m not myself anymore. I’m just another one of his puppets.”

“I know,” he sighed, eyes frowning. “I know what he’s done to you. And I swear, if I could—” He cut himself off, his hands trembling slightly as he reined in the fury threatening to spill over. “But we can’t just run. Dazai... He’s too smart. He’d know. He’d find us, no matter where we went.”

But of course again you knew Dazai, he was no ordinary man. He was calculated, methodical, and always one step ahead of everyone around him. He weaponized his false incompetence, using it to manipulate people into underestimating him. It was a clever façade, one that hid the dark and twisted brilliance beneath. He knew exactly how to pull the strings, to twist every situation in his favour. Running from him wasn’t just difficult—it was impossible.

“He’d hunt us down,” Chuuya continued, his voice a strained whisper. “No matter where we went, no matter how far we ran, Dazai would find us. And when he does...”

Chuuya didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. You both knew what Dazai was capable of. There were no limits to how far he’d go to maintain control, to remind you that you were his, body and soul.

Tears stung at the corners of your eyes as the hopelessness of your situation sank in. You bit your lip, trying to steady the storm brewing inside you. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Dazai had this much control over your life, that no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t break free. But staying wasn’t an option anymore. Not after everything you had been through. Not when you had finally allowed yourself to feel something for someone else—someone who treated you like a person, not a pawn.

“We have to try,” you whispered, your voice pleading. “Even if it’s dangerous, even if he hunts us down, we have to at least try. I can’t keep living like this, Chuuya. I can’t be his toy anymore.”

Chuuya stared at you, his expression softening as he saw the desperation in your eyes. He knew you were serious. He knew how much you had suffered under Dazai’s thumb. And though every instinct in him screamed that running was a death sentence, he also knew that staying would break you in ways even he couldn’t fix.

“Alright,” he said quietly,“We’ll try. But we have to be smart about it. He's not someone you can just escape from without a plan.”

You nodded, relief washing over you as you reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “I’ll plan it,” you said, your mind already racing with possibilities. “We’ll find a way. Somewhere, he won’t think to look. Somewhere safe.”

The night ended peacefully, the two of you spending the remaining hours in quiet companionship. Chuuya left the studio with a lingering look as if he was trying to commit the memory of this moment to heart. You watched him go, your heart heavy yet light all at once, knowing that you would return to the embrace of the man who tore you apart.

When you slipped into bed later that night, Dazai was already there, his presence was unlike the warmth you had felt with Chuuya. He hummed softly as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

“Did you drink tonight?” he asked slowly with a low and deceptively gentle voice.

“I needed to relax,” you replied, trying to keep your tone even. Dazai’s lips moved to your forehead, where he placed a soft kiss, a gesture so tender it almost made you believe in the facade he presented.

Your mind raced with a whirlwind of thoughts and plans, urging you to be more cautious. How did you even end up here in the first place? What were you thinking—did you really believe he’d love you? You scoffed bitterly at your past self.

How do you make this vicious cycle end? Convinced yourself to like the bed you shared with him while crying, going numb and lying bare. You did it all for him and more, with all your body getting sore.

How could you be so brutal to yourself?

Finally, after what felt like hours, you drifted off to sleep, knowing that tomorrow the cycle would begin again—Dazai’s cruelty followed by hollow apologies, his grip on you tightening with each passing day But in the quiet of the night, your thoughts drifted to Chuuya, and your heart fluttered with anticipation at the thought of seeing him again. It had been months, yet the excitement you felt was just as strong as the first time.

The next evening, you slipped into a cami top and jeans, your movements careful and deliberate. When you approached the door, you saw Dazai at his desk, yawning and eyeing you with his empty, hollow gaze. The bandage over his left eye only heightened your simmering anxiety, but you forced yourself to remain calm as he asked, “Are you going to the studio to paint? Darlin’,”

You nodded, hoping your nervousness didn’t show. Dazai got up from his desk and walked over to you, placing a soft kiss on your lips. “I’ll come with you then,” he suggested, his tone light but laced with an undercurrent that made your heart race in fear.

This is bad—so, so bad!

As Dazai moved to slip on his coat, you seized the moment, your fingers moving swiftly over your phone's keyboard. The message to Chuuya was short, urgent: "Mission 006." It was the code you had agreed upon, a signal that he should stay away from the studio tonight.

You hit send just as Dazai turned back to you, "Ready?" he asked. There was an edge to his voice that sent a shiver down your spine.

You nodded, trying to keep your expression neutral as you followed him out the door. The walk to the studio was silent, the usual chatter between you two absent. Dazai’s presence was as suffocating as ever, but tonight, there was something more—an intensity that made your skin crawl. You couldn’t help but wonder if he knew if he had somehow pieced together the secret you and Chuuya had been carefully guarding.

When you arrived at the studio, the familiar scent of paint and canvas did little to ease your nerves. You unlocked the door, and the two of you stepped inside. Dazai paused at the threshold, his gaze sweeping over the small space as if he was seeing it for the first time.

"It's cozy," he remarked, though his tone was flat, devoid of any real interest. He wandered further in, his steps slow, as if he was taking stock of every detail.

You swallowed hard, trying to focus on anything but the cold sweat forming at the back of your neck. "It’s my little sanctuary," you said, forcing a lightness into your voice that you didn’t feel.

Dazai walked over to the easel where your unfinished painting stood, his head tilting slightly as he studied it. You could feel his gaze on the canvas, lingering on the dark swirls and sharp lines. His silence stretched on, heavy and oppressive, until finally, he spoke.

"What were you trying to express here?" He asked, narrowing his eyes as he attempted to decipher your painting.

You hesitated, your mind racing to come up with a safe answer. "Just… emotions," you said quietly, your gaze fixed on the floor. "I paint what I feel."

Dazai didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he reached out, his fingers tracing the lines of the painting with an almost careless touch. "It’s dark," he murmured, more to himself than to you. "Like a storm brewing."

You forced yourself to nod, though your throat felt tight. "It’s been a… difficult time," you said, the understatement almost laughable.

Dazai finally turned to face you, his eyes locking onto yours. The intensity in his gaze made your heart skip a beat, without breaking eye contact, he leaned in, his lips brushing softly against yours in a tender kiss. As he pulled back slightly, his gaze remained fixed on you, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. "You know," he murmured, "sometimes I wonder what goes on in that pretty little head of yours."

The words were light, almost teasing, but you knew better than to believe that façade. You forced yourself to stay calm, to keep your expression neutral. "Nothing special," you lied, offering a small, strained smile.

He held your gaze for a moment longer before he let out a low hum, as if he wasn’t entirely convinced but didn’t feel like pressing the matter further. "Well, let’s see what you can create tonight," he said, stepping back and gesturing towards the canvas with a casual wave.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to pick up the brush with steady hands. As you dipped it into the paint, you could feel his piercing eyes on you, watching your every move with a calculated gaze that made your skin prickle.

The brushstrokes felt heavy, each one a struggle as you tried to focus on anything other than the man standing behind you. But all you could think about was Chuuya, hoping against hope that he had gotten your message in time, that he would stay away, that tonight wouldn’t end in disaster.

Just as you began to settle into a rhythm, the soft buzz of your phone vibrating in your pocket broke your concentration. Your heart leapt into your throat as you hesitated, knowing it could only be Chuuya. Dazai’s eyes flicked towards you, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips as he noticed your sudden tension.

"You should get that," he said, his tone almost too kind.

With shaky hands, you pulled out your phone, the screen lighting up with a message from Chuuya: "Understood. Be safe."

You breathed out a sigh of relief, quickly typing back a short reply before slipping the phone back into your pocket. "Just Chuuya making sure I received the files earlier from today," you lied, hoping to deflect any suspicion.

Dazai didn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes made it clear that he wasn’t entirely fooled. He stepped closer, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair away from your face. "You have such a pretty face," he murmured, his fingers against your cheek lingering a bit too long. "It would be a shame if anything happened to it."

You stiffened at the veiled threat, your heart pounding in your chest as you forced yourself to stay still, to not flinch under his touch. "I’ll be careful," you whispered, though your voice wavered.

Dazai smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Good," he said, his hand dropping back to his side. "Now, continue your magic darlin’."

You turned back to the canvas, struggling to concentrate as your thoughts swirled in disarray. The weight of the evening pressed down on you, with tonight promising its own set of trials.

Just then, Dazai's phone rang, the sharp sound breaking through the quiet. He glanced at the screen, his expression shifting to one of urgent concern.

"I'm sorry, darlin’," he said, "I have to go. There's an emergency I need to handle."

He stepped closer, cupping your face gently in his hands. His lips met yours in a soft, lingering kiss—tender and bittersweet at first, but slowly growing more possessive, as if he were kissing you for the last time. As he pulled away, he offered a reassuring smile.

"I will wait for you at my penthouse" he promised, his eyes lingering on yours for a moment longer before he turned and walked toward the door. With a final glance back, he slipped out, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the dim light of the studio.

Once Dazai had left, you quickly grabbed your phone from your pocket, and typed a message to Chuuya: "Mission 006 is complete. Head to the HQ now."

You quickly gathered your things, taking one last look around the studio to make sure you hadn't forgotten anything—a gun, your favorite painting, and a few clothes for emergencies. With a deep breath, you slung your backpack over your shoulders, stepped out the door, and made your way to the headquarters.

The streets were eerily quiet as you walked, your mind racing with what you were about to do. When you reached the mafia headquarters, you slipped inside through a side entrance that you had memorized for emergencies like this.

The headquarters was still, the usual hustle and bustle of the mafia's operations eerily absent. You made your way to the main floor, your heart pounding in your chest. you approached the central hub where most of the mafia members were stationed.

With trembling hands, you took a deep breath and activated your ability—the one you had kept hidden for years. Phantom mists, a memory fog that could cloud the minds of everyone around you, except for Dazai. It wasn’t going to be effective against him, but against the mafia? It would create the perfect chaos. The pendant around your neck warmed as you focused, pouring your energy into the ability.

A swirling mist began to spread from your fingertips, a soft fog that permeated the air. You could feel the tendrils of your ability seeping into the minds of everyone in the vicinity. The effect was immediate—confusion and disorientation began to take hold.

Voices started to rise in panic, shouts echoing through the hallways. "What’s happening? I can’t remember..." one mafioso cried out.

You could imagine it clearly—the mafia’s best, their subordinates and leaders alike, suddenly unable to remember who they were supposed to trust, who their allies were. They wouldn’t even remember Dazai was their boss.

You slipped into the dimly lit maze beneath the headquarters, the fog of your ability still working its magic above. The soft echo of your footsteps against the cold stone ground was the only sound as you navigated the narrow tunnel that led to the next step in your escape. Your pulse raced with adrenaline, knowing the chaos you had unleashed would buy you just enough time.

As you approached the end of the tunnel, your beloved mafia executive appeared from the shadows, waiting by the ladder leading to the manhole cover above. His familiar silhouette, though tense, brought you an unexpected sense of relief. He glanced up at you, his sharp eyes softening the moment they met yours.

"About damn time," he muttered, but his tone lacked any real bite. You knew him well enough to recognize the relief in his voice.

You gave him a quick nod, stepping forward as he reached out, placing a steadying hand around you. For a moment all that mattered was Chuuya Nakahara just 'him' with his short temper and rough edges, he had always been there for you. It was a truth neither of you had ever said aloud, but it didn’t need to be.

"Are you okay, hun?" His voice was so velvety gentle. He didn’t meet your eyes, his attention seemingly fixed on the ladder. But his hand remained at the small of your back, his thumb tracing a small, absent-minded circle against your clothed skin.

You nodded, trying to control your breath. "I’m fine," you whispered, though your heart was still racing. "It’s done. We have a window."

He exhaled, finally letting his shoulders relax. "Good, we need to move fast," he said as he positioned himself beneath the manhole cover. "This will take us closer to the station."

With a grunt, the mafioso climbed up the ladder and pushed the heavy metal cover aside, the cold night air rushing down to meet you both. He climbed up first, then reached down to help you out, his fingers gripping yours tightly as he pulled you up onto the street. The city was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic.

You glanced around, quickly regaining your bearings. "The train station is close, right?"

"Yeah," he replied, already starting to walk, picking up his pace. "I arranged a train to Kyoto. It'll give us enough distance, at least for a little while."

After a few minutes of fast walking, you approached the station, the faint glow of the train's headlights illuminated the platform in the distance. Chuuya glanced at you, his hand briefly finding your wrist, pulling you back for a second. His captivating azure eyes met yours, filled with something deeper than his usual intensity.

"You did good tonight," he said quietly, his voice rougher than usual. "But… you know he’s not going to let this go. We need to be ready for whatever comes next."

"I know," you murmured, stepping closer. "I have everything planned."

He just gave a small nod and released your wrist, his hand sliding down to intertwine his fingers with yours in a fleeting gesture of reassurance.

"Come on, we don’t have time," he said, his tone regaining its usual bite as he pulled you toward the station.

The two of you boarded the train, slipping into one of the empty compartments as the doors slid shut behind you with a soft hiss. The train rumbled to life, and the gentle sway lulled you into a momentary sense of peace, though you knew it wouldn’t last.

The mafia executive sat across from you, his hat pulled low over his eyes as he leaned back. He tried to act casual, like everything was under control, but you could see the tension in his jaw and the way his fingers drummed restlessly against his knee.

"Are you going to pretend you're not worried about me?" you teased lightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

Chuuya huffs dramatically. "Shut up," he muttered, though his lips twitched slightly with amusement. "You’re not as helpless as you look. Who would have guessed you had such a powerful ability hidden up your sleeve?"

"Flattery won’t get you anywhere," you joked, watching the man beside you shift in his seat.

The man in question leaned forward slightly, his voice low, almost as if the empty train could somehow betray his words. "I mean it, though. No matter what happens… I’ll keep you safe." He parts his lips slightly as if he was hesitant. "He’s not laying a hand on you again."

You knew the moment of peace was fleeting, a temporary respite in the chaos that would inevitably catch up to you both. He’d find you—of course, he always did—but this soon? You weren’t expecting that. Still, you had a plan, a counter to his twisted, manipulative games. After all, you knew his mind, how he bent and twisted reality to his will. So, you played dirty, just like him.

The sudden jolt of the train hitting something, the screech of metal twisting and crashing, sent a shockwave through the entire train. Chuuya’s arm wrapped around you, his ability immediately activated shielding you from the impact. Through the dizzying haze, your vision blurred, but you saw him—a familiar silhouette in a dark coat, red scarf flowing behind him like a warning. He was walking toward you, his figure growing clearer as the dust settled.

There’s no time left. You had to move now, or it would be too late.

Your heart raced as you saw him clap his hands, the sound mocking in its slow, deliberate rhythm. He was amused. Of course, he was. The familiar twisted smile, painting the corners of his lips as he spoke, his voice sounded like something that could’ve been approval—or maybe it was just a new layer of threat. "Good job," Dazai drawled, eyes gleaming with that familiar, unnerving intelligence. Was he proud of you for finally releasing your ability for blanketing the entire mafia headquarters with the dense, confusing memory fog? Or was this his way of saying you’d only managed to amuse him, that your effort was nothing more than a brief diversion in his grand scheme?

He always knew, somehow. It was as if he could sense it every time. The thought gnawed at you as the devil in question stepped closer. Of course, Dazai had known about you and Chuuya all along. No matter how careful you were, how meticulously you avoided suspicion, he had always been one step ahead. Because he's the cunning devil himself, he's Osamu Dazai, the demon prodigy that was never left in the dark—not where you were concerned.

And now, you were trapped in his web again.

You saw him as he moved with the same old unsettling calm, his footsteps echoing in the eerie silence as he found a seat among the debris, settling down as if he were nothing more than a bored spectator to the carnage.

A crooked smile curled on his lips, his eyes gleaming with that disgustingly cold amusement. "Finally," he let out a breathless chuckle. "You’ve let your ability take control. I was beginning to wonder how long you'd hide it." His gaze flickered toward you, sharp as a blade. "I must say, I enjoy it just a little bit. Tell me darlin’, does that make me insane?"

Chuuya, of course, wasn’t about to sit idle. The moment Dazai’s words slithered into the air, he shot up, standing between you and Dazai, "You think you can just waltz in here and act like you have all of us under your command?" he growled, "You’re wrong, Dazai. I don’t give a damn about your twisted games or the Port Mafia. If it means keeping her safe, I’d watch it all burn."

The mafia boss's lips curled into a cruel smile, "Ah, Chuuya," he mused, tilting his head with a condescending air. "How touching. Such devotion. You’re so willing to throw away your morals, your loyalty—everything you’ve stood for—just for her. And here I thought you were just a pawn, but it seems I’ve underestimated you."

"You want to talk about misplaced loyalty? How about you look at her. Look at how you’ve torn her apart. Do you think you’re protecting her? Loving her? It's not an act of love if you force her, " Chuuya spat, shaking his head with disgust. How could he act like he didn't destroy you, tore you apart?

Dazai leaned back, unperturbed." Chuuya, you misunderstood everything, ehh? Everything I did was to protect her, to train her to conquer her fears and take control of her life. And look at her now—she’s in control, free from her own constraints. I’d say I’ve succeeded."

He leaned in closer, smiling like a maniac that he is, "If you think your misguided sense of protection is better than what I’ve done, then perhaps you should reconsider your own humanity. After all, it seems you’re more concerned with playing the hero than understanding what real strength and freedom look like."

You cut through the tension, drawing the gun that was placed in your backpack and aiming it at Dazai. "Enough." Your voice was steady, but your heart was not. "You’re right about one thing—this is my plan. I know you’re not as unfeeling as you pretend. I’m here to make you pay for what you’ve done."

Dazai scoffed, his eyes dismissive. "You can’t muster the courage to kill me, darlin’."

You clenched your teeth, the gun steady in your hand. "It’s not about killing you. It’s about making you feel the pain you’ve inflicted. Two years of this twisted mess, of apologies from my tongue but never yours, just endless torment."

You stepped closer, your voice trembling with rage and exhaustion. "Tell me, Dazai, if we had a daughter? I'd watch and could not save her. The emotional torture? from the head of your high table... she'd do what you taught her. She'd meet the same cruel fate.

"So now I've gotta run, so I can undo this mistake... At least, I've gotta try" your breath hitched in your throat.

For the first time in your life you saw Dazai's expression stripped of its usual layers of detachment. It was almost readable—though, in truth, it had always been so readable, you were just too hurt to see it..he seemed genuinely vulnerable, a rare sight for someone who usually masked their feelings so well.

"Do you really believe that, after everything," he voice dripping with a sadness he could no longer hide. He knew he had inflicted profound pain that his actions had not succeeded as he had claimed. He saw the woman he cherished, distancing herself from him, and it shattered him in ways he couldn't admit.

You fought to keep your tears in check, swallowing the rising tide of anguish.

The mafia boss, now a broken man, rose from his seat and moved closer with the same pained expression on his face that was too unfamiliar to you. For the first time, you didn’t flinch as he approached. Maybe your plan had worked—maybe now, he was the one truly hurt.

He gently took your hands, still gripping the gun so desperately, and aimed it at his heart as you stood there unshaken. You had emptied the gun, knowing that the real weapon was your words, not a filled barrel. You were fearless, no longer afraid of what Dazai might do, because the true pain was already inflicted.

"Go on, my love," he demanded, “Shoot me,” He pressed lightly against your finger on the trigger. Still, you didn’t move, you remained utterly still.

Time seemed to stretch, seconds dragging as Chuuya stood by, his eyes widening in shock. 'Is he out of his mind???' This can’t be happening!!!

Chuuya began to step forward, his ability ready to activate. But his shout was too late. “NO! THIS ISN'T YOUR GUN!!!”

You felt the pressure on your finger intensify, bewildered by the urgency in Chuuya’s voice. He knew the gun was empty—why was he stopping you? What does he mean this is not your gun?

Your confusion wavering as the trigger pressed down with an inexplicable force. Time seemed to distort, the moment stretching into a surreal blur. A bullet, as if conjured from the void, shot forth with a chilling precision, piercing the veil of reality and leaving you numb, detached from the gravity of what was happening.

As the bullet pierced Dazai’s chest, everything around you felt unreal, a dreamscape where the laws of cause and effect seemed suspended. The sound of the gunshot echoed in your ears, dissonant...distant, like a harsh reminder from another world.

Your eyes widened in horror. You were sure you had emptied the gun. How could this happen? Your heart raced as you screamed in agony. “NO, OSAMU!!!”

You reached out, your hands trembling as you tried to grasp the enormity of what had just transpired. Dazai's body fell forward against yours, a warm, crimson stain spreading through your clothes.

You collapsed to the ground in a haze, disbelief clouding your mind. This can’t be real… it feels like a cruel illusion. His shallow breaths brushed weakly against your skin, barely there but enough to hold onto.

Chuuya rushed forward, gently cradling Dazai's head beside you, his eyes betraying a depth of sorrow that he struggled so hard to contain. The train car, once a mere backdrop to your confrontation, now felt like a tragic stage for this final act.

Dazai's breath was shallow, as he slowly tilted his head, his eyes locked with yours, a fading smile painted his now blood stained lips.

“Finally, my love,” he rasped, his voice barely more than a whisper. “You’re free from my grip… free from my control.”

His gaze shifted to Chuuya, and he managed a weak, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry... for everything.”

His heartbeat faltered, the rhythm of life slowing to a stop. With a final, shuddering breath, Dazai’s eyes closed, and the warmth faded from his body.

You could not control your sobs, the anguish tearing through you like a relentless storm. You had hated him, yes, but never wanted this. Never wanted to see him die, to feel this unbearable void where his presence had been.

Chuuya, his face etched with profound sorrow, held back his own tears as he watched his boss and former partner slip away. “You were always such an idiot, Dazai.” He managed a sad smile through his tears, a silent acknowledgment of the complexities of their shared history. He knew now, all too late, what Dazai had truly intended and the extent of the manipulation that had led to this tragic end.

The wrecked train car felt like a distorted realm, every sound and motion warped by the intense grief that filled it. Your loud sobs echoed eerily through the wreckage, the sound reverberating in a way that made time seem to stretch and slow. Each cry was a jarring note in a symphony of desolation, creating a haunting melody that seemed to hang in the air.

A day had passed since Dazai's tragic end, whether it was death or a calculated suicide. The weight of his absence still lingered in the room.

The sun cast a dim, melancholic light through the window as you sat next to Chuuya on the couch in your room, holding a burgundy envelope. its edges slightly crumpled from the many times you had picked it up and set it aside. The elegant cursive writing on the front, "𝑇𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑤𝑜 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑠 𝐼 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑠𝑜 𝑑𝑒𝑒𝑝𝑙𝑦 :D" the absurdity of the smiley face—silly and oddly incongruent—making you hesitate even more.

“It’s okay, honey, I’m here,” Chuuya whispered, placing his gloved hand on your thigh and rubbing circles to sooth you down.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart, and carefully peeled open the envelope.

"𝑇𝑜 𝑚𝑦 𝑡𝑤𝑜 𝑓𝑎𝑣𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑠,

𝐼𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢’𝑟𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠, 𝑖𝑡 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑠 𝐼’𝑣𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑎𝑔𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑖𝑛 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑡, 𝑢𝑛𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑎𝑦. 𝐴ℎ, ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝐼 𝑑𝑖𝑑 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑒𝑠.

𝐵𝑦 𝑛𝑜𝑤, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑎𝑦 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑣𝑒𝑠 𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝐼’𝑣𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑓𝑡 𝑏𝑒ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑑, 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟, 𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑤, 𝑜𝑟 𝑝𝑒𝑟ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑠 𝑎 𝑏𝑖𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ. 𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑎𝑙𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑦 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑖𝑡’𝑠 𝑎 𝑏𝑖𝑡 𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎𝑝𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑖𝑒𝑠, 𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑚𝑒 𝑎 𝑚𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑖𝑛.

𝐹𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑎𝑙𝑙, 𝐼 𝑚𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑠𝑎𝑦, 𝐼’𝑚 𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑦. 𝐼’𝑚 𝑠𝑜 𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑢𝑡, 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑑, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑓𝑢𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢. 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑝𝑖𝑒𝑐𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑏𝑜𝑎𝑟𝑑. 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑙𝑦 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡, 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝐼? 𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑡𝑦𝑝𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑙 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑒.

𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑎𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑦 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑔𝑎𝑚𝑒, 𝑜𝑟 𝑖𝑓 𝐼 𝑠𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑦 𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑎𝑦. 𝑃𝑒𝑟ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑠 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ. 𝐼𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑑, 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑎 𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑚𝑒—𝑠𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡 ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑛—𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑒𝑝𝑙𝑦, 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑓 𝐼 𝑑𝑖𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑡𝑜 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑖𝑡.

𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑚𝑦 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑟, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑚𝑦 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑙𝑢𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑚𝑦 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑗𝑜𝑦. 𝑊𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑛 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝐶ℎ𝑢𝑢𝑦𝑎, 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎 𝑠𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑜𝑓 ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑏𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑝𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑓𝑢𝑙 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑧𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛. 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑒𝑑, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑡’𝑠 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝐼 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒. 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑒𝑒, 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎 𝑓𝑜𝑜𝑙 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑒𝑒𝑝𝑙𝑦 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑏𝑟𝑜𝑘𝑒𝑛 𝑤𝑎𝑦.

𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑦 𝑡𝑜 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠: 𝑚𝑦 𝑖𝑛��𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝐼 𝑠𝑒𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼 𝑑𝑖𝑑. 𝐼 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑡ℎ 𝑡𝑜 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑚𝑒, 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑚𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑜 𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑡𝑜 𝑎𝑠𝑘.

𝐶ℎ𝑢𝑢𝑦𝑎, 𝑚𝑦 𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑, 𝐼’𝑣𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑠 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠. 𝑌𝑜𝑢’𝑣𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑚𝑒, 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛, 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑡ℎ 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔. 𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑎 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑓 ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑦’𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑡ℎ 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑝𝑎𝑐𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑢𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑛𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛. 𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑘𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑚𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑎 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙, 𝑓𝑙𝑎𝑤𝑒𝑑, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑖𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑦 ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔. 𝐼 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑡ℎ, 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑦 𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠.

𝐼𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑑. 𝐼𝑓 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑠𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑐𝑖𝑡𝑦, 𝑖𝑡’𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢. 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑡ℎ 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑘𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠. 𝑇𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑓𝑖𝑎 𝑏𝑜𝑠𝑠, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑑𝑜 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑚𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑑𝑜𝑛𝑒. 𝐼 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡.

𝐼𝑡 𝑏𝑟𝑜𝑘𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝐼 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡—𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒. 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑜 𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑣𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑑, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑓𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎 𝑤𝑒𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑟.

𝑁𝑜𝑤, 𝑔𝑜 𝑜𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒. 𝑃𝑟𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑒𝑓𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑠, 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑔𝑢𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒, ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑝𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑡ℎ 𝑡𝑜 𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑦 𝑚𝑦 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑠. 𝐼 𝑤𝑖𝑠ℎ 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑠𝑡, 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑓 𝐼’𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑎𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑖𝑡.

𝑊𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑠𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒,

𝒪𝓈𝒶𝓂𝓊 𝒟𝒶𝓏𝒶𝒾,

𝑃.𝑆: 𝑀𝑦 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝐼’𝑚 𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑠𝑤𝑖𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑔𝑢𝑛 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑛𝑒. 𝐷𝑜𝑛’𝑡 𝑏𝑙𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑚𝑦 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ—𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑦 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑛. 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑖𝑑 𝑒𝑥𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑜."

As you finished reading, your sobs erupted uncontrollably, the grief of his words and the weight of his absence overwhelming you. Chuuya encircled you with his arms, drawing you close and planting gentle kisses on your temple.

“It’s okay,” he whispered repeatedly, his breath warm against your ear. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

As your cries began to subside, the room remained shrouded in a mournful silence. The letter had left a new reality for you both to face.

The ink had indeed dried, but it was not your ink that marked the paper; it was Dazai's.

A/N: If you’re still with me, high five! You’re just as wonderfully tormented as I am, haha. Hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think! *KISSES*

-Heavily inspired by the songs "Labour" by Paris Paloma and "Will I Ever Love?" by Anya Nami

➵Want more of Chuuya Nakahara ?

[rckktwink]

dazai class doodle………….hi

[dazai-wastelandbaby]

Hey will you guys read a fanfiction where a bsd fan get sucks into bsd world but she have a body of 13 years old and oda adopts her but it's not typical everyone fighting over her but her realising ki she can't change anything and going mad.

(and she has a deep understanding of characters so you can see her contradicting their personal philosophies especially Dazai who finally has someone who understand him or something like that)

(also she shamelessly ships straight men, call the lupin bar trio manwhore, ask mori if he is stupid and is kind of best friends with Yosano)

(p.s. she doesn't have any ability)

[with-my-calamitous-love]

PHONE CALL

dazai x fem! reader

smut, minors DNI (ageless blogs will be blocked)

dazai fucks you while you’re on the phone.

oral (fem receiving), degrading, slight humiliation, edging, dazai being kind of an asshole

dazai had you pinned against his bed, legs thrown over his shoulders. clothes had been long forgotten at this point, as the only thing you could truly focus on was your mind going blank.

one hand fondled your breast, squeezing and massaging it in soft circles. he rolled your nipple in between his fingers, pinching you gasped at his fast pace. meanwhile, his other hand diligently fingered your sweet pussy, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit while his two fingers thrusted in and out of you. he’d smirk every time he felt your walls clench around his slender digits.

you wanted to cry out, moan for him to let you release, but there was one problem.

dazai had dialled the armed detective agency on your phone. you called in sick today, but the president had insisted you at least attend the important meeting over the phone. and thats how you ended up here.

for now, he has given you the mercy of muting the call, but your embarrassment spoke volumes. he sped up the pace of his fingers, immediately causing your hands to fly up to your mouth covering yourself. dazai was quick to grab your wrists and pin them above your head, leaning in to whisper into your ear.

“now now bella, how will they hear your beautiful moans with your mouth covered?” he knew what he was doing, refusing to let your wrists go as his fingers worked tirelessly on your pussy. you were dripping by now, his fingers sliding in and out of you at a slick pace. you were ready to cum any minute now, but not when it was dazai pleasuring you.

“my pretty little slut wants to cum? hm? not till i’ve gotten a taste of you..‘’

much to your dismay, dazai unmuted the call. it was now up to you to stay quiet.

he lowered his head, throwing your thighs over his shoulders. he grins as he trails his head down your body, spreading your pussy lips with his fingers. he teases your sensitive bundle of nerves with feather-light kisses, kissing the innermost corners of your thighs but not daring to eat you out. he wanted this to be slow. he wanted you to lose your mind.

his eyes gleam with wicked delight as he hovers mere inches from your throbbing pussy. he slowly, tantalizingly drags the tip of his tongue along your swollen clit, sending shivers of pleasure through your body. he dips his head lower, his tongue circling your entrance before slowly pushing inside. dazai moans against your slick folds, savoring your sweet taste as he works to drive you wild with need. he slowly and torturously running his tongue along your slick folds, savouring your taste like no other.

your hands covered your mouth. you wanted to scream and cry for him, tell him to go faster and beg him to let you cum, but not when you had people listening. dazai knew exactly what he was doing to you, and he loved it.

dazai groans hungrily as he dives in, his skilled tongue exploring every inch of your pussy. he laps at your sensitive flesh, delighting in the way you squirm and moan under his touch. his movements are relentless, driving you wild with pleasure as he savors your tangy taste. he sucks and licks with shameless abandon, working to push you closer and closer to the edge of release. he holds nothing back, determined to bring you to the heights of pleasure - and to torment you for his own sadistic delight.

he plunges his tongue back inside, stroking and teasing your most sensitive spots as his fingers grip your thighs, holding you firmly in place. dazai is relentless in this, determined to fill you with ecstasy. staying quiet was becoming unbearable. his tongue leaves no part of you untouched. he starts to suck ob your clit, knowing how close you were to cumming but refusing to let you. he sucks hard and then using his tongue to leave a long stroke up and down your folds. the noises of your co-workers was mere white noise to you. you could only focus on the way his tongue ate you out like a starved man.

after what felt like forever, dazai pulled back up. to your relief, he muted the phone once more. you took the opportunity to catch your breath, but apart of you knew he wasn’t done. he grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him.

“f-fuck. please, fuck i-i’m gonna cum..” you begged to him. he only smirked, knowing what he was doing to you.

“is that so? you’re such a pretty slut, if only they knew how obedient you are to me..” he placed a wet kiss on your neck. he lined up his cock to your entrance, ready to claim you. but he held back, purposely teasing your sensitive clit without granting you what you wanted so bad.

“look at you, so wet and needy for me…” slowly, sensually, he ran the tip of his shaft up and down your slick folds, eliciting a frustrated whimper from you. he chuckled darkly, reveling in the power he held over you. “you have to beg for it first.”

“please.. please i need your cock so bad dazai! i-i want you to fuck me… please..” you could barely speak, needing nothing but for him to pound into you like he owned your pussy.

he leaned in once again. “if you think about cumming without my permission, i’ll fuck you right in the agency office.”

with that, he unmuted the phone-call and pushed himself inside of you. he thrust his hips forward, burying his throbbing cock deep inside your welcoming heat. a groan escaped his lips at the sensation of their tight, slick walls enveloping him. luckily, the meeting was just about over, but at this point neither of you cared. dazai finally ended the call, letting you scream to your hearts content.

picking up a punishing pace, dazai pounded into you, relentlessly driving his cock home again and again. the sound of your bodies slapping together filled the air, mingling with their cries of pleasure and pain. "thats right, take my cock like the dirty slut you are," he groaned, voice dripping with cruel satisfaction. “you were made for this, to be used and filled up by me.”

your pussy ached to cum, wanting to clench around his cock with your release. the sounds from your mouth was a mixture of moans, cries, and begging. his pace began to get sloppy, wanting nothing more than to plant himself deep inside of you. but he wasn’t going to make it that easy for you.

“you wanna cum? hm? beg.” he teased.

“please! fuck- oh- please.. please let me cum dazai! i can’t take it anymore.. fuck..”

he leaned down, planting one last wet kiss underneath your ear. “than cum for me.”

you screamed.

you felt your walls clench around his cock, your cum coating him perfectly. dazai planted his release in thick white ropes of cum, pulling out and watching your pussy drip full of him. he left more lazy kisses on your neck, bringing you back down to earth by his side. you gasped, your body warm and buzzing enjoying his warmth on top of you. but despite your exhaustion, something piqued your interest.

“now, about what you said about fucking me in the agency office?”

[despairots]

- at the top of my lungs, in my arms, she dies , #c. nakahara!

description, there’s a reason why chuuya never went to visit you. it’s been like that every since that fateful day of dazai jumping, leaving no goodbye to chuuya. he felt distraught, but he’s moving on, taking the lead of the port mafia boss. though, he’s wondering if you miss him.

story contains, suicide, swearing, mafia activities, character deaths, beast!bsd spoilers, unrequited love??, more like right person, not enough time, angst, etc. gender neutral! reader. drabble, short.

it’s terrifying that i never wrote about chuuya,,,, anyways my bsf is gonna watch bsd and im tryna gatekeep dazai and chuuya from him (i showed akutagawa to him so he can take him)

chuuya nakahara doesn’t remember the last time he visited you. he was piled in work, and a few work that dazai refused to take on and do, leaving it to chuuya. he’s stressed, i mean, who wouldn’t? he’s the port mafia boss.

he hasn’t seen you in a while, he’s too afraid to face you. thinking about all the guilt on leaving you would catch up to him, it’s not that he doesn’t feel guilty— he does— he doesn’t know if you’ll forgive him. he knows you’re a pretty forgiving person, until it’s someone you care about is hurting you a lot.

chuuya’s scared, in short words.

he remembers your touch, your leadership, your eyes, you don’t smile often, he misses it though. he cherishes you very much, if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be thinking of you this much.

he hasn’t seen you ever since dazai’s suicide, he misses you both (dazai, a little bit less). after all, you were chuuya’s first love, how couldn’t he miss you? everyday, chuuya wonders what would happen if you didn’t leave.

now, at the port mafia, he’s by himself. all alone. piled with work and the amount of mafioso’s that don’t know how to work. as much as he hates this job, it’s the only place he feels like he belongs in, his loyalty goes beyond.

he wants to see you, so much that it’s hurting him. kouyou could see the look of distraught on the boss, as an executive, she asks what’s wrong with him. they can’t have their boss in this type of state.

kouyou knows how much you mean to him, he has a picture of you in his office, a spider lily caged in a glass beside the photo. she could tell that chuuya loves you, very much so, until the very end.

she’s visited you here and there, telling you how chuuya is and how much he misses you, aswell as wanting to see you. she remembers the words that you’ll wait for him, no matter how long until he sees you.

you had told her not to tell chuuya, well, because maybe chuuya will hurry the process and be there as soon as possible. you wanted him to take his time, you’d wait forever for him, even in death.

“where are you going?” kouyou asks, the answer already in her head once she sees the port mafia boss turn around, holding a bouquet of red roses. “you wanna come with?” the sight makes kouyou widen her eyes a bit before she closes them and turns around.

“i already saw them.” she whispered softly, her heels clicking on the floor as chuuya nods and leaves the building, a black car appearing in front of him.

chuuya can’t remember your voice, he only has your voicemails. he can’t remember your smell either, he only has a few months left until all your clothing, bedsheets, pillows, and perfumes are gone.

the sight of your place comes into view, stepping out of the car and heading straight to yours, the guilt and excitement all rushing into his brain—

—until he steps infront of your grave. dropping the roses on your grave and seeing the left over flowers kouyou left for you. there’s a restrained look of sadness on his face as he stares down on your grave, the wind blowing past him.

he’s scared that you won’t forgive him, for not visiting you, for not being there for you when you needed him the most, and especially, not being strong enough to save you. he thinks that maybe he should’ve just stayed with you, to stop you from hurting yourself any longer.

it’s the life time guilt he has for not being able to forget you, he gave you up to fast and chuuya wants to experience the life of being with you again.

there’s a reason why chuuya never went to visit you.

it’s because you’re dead.